Nothing Like A Yesterday
by augiesannie
Summary: "When was the last time you felt complete?" Two weeks before their wedding, Maria and Georg, each tense with anticipation, find themselves at a crossroads. What lies ahead? Lost hopes and shattered dreams? Or profound intimacy and boundless love? After this setup chapter, this story turns M-rated, so after you leave me a review, please follow if you like that sort of thing!
1. Chapter 1

**Nothing Like A Yesterday**

Chapter 1

Just before they turned onto the main road for Vienna, they passed a broad clearing, where a noisy mob of children had gathered. Clustered like bees, they tumbled and wrestled and chased each other as clouds of dust rose around them, so that it was impossible to discern, in the midst of the chaos, how many of them there were, or even whether they were boys or girls.

Georg smiled at the memory: it had been an early summer afternoon, just three months ago, when Elsa Schrader had pointed out a different, and disturbingly _familiar,_ pack of local urchins, who were climbing trees by this very roadside. Now, summer had turned to autumn, Elsa was back in Vienna where she belonged, her tree-climbing urchins had thoroughly wormed their way back into his heart, and, despite the looming German threat, it was impossible not to feel optimistic about the future.

Glancing over at his companion, he felt himself fully relax for the first time a long while, perhaps even since that magical night in the gazebo. In the immediate aftermath of that evening, he had been so astonished at the remarkable turn of events his life had taken, and caught up in the elation that swept through his family and his household - not to mention completely blinded beyond reason by newly discovered passion – that he'd been inexcusably slow to see the perilous path that lay ahead of them, and until this moment, he hadn't forgiven himself for it.

For the first few weeks had been surprisingly difficult indeed. He'd been a fool not to anticipate the impact on Maria: the swell of unkind gossip and whispers that followed her everywhere, her bewilderment at being catapulted, first from postulant to governess and then to baroness and lady of the manor. He nearly gave in to her pleas for a quick wedding, seeing how overwhelmed she was by the enterprise, with no mother or sisters to help. He certainly couldn't help her, and even the children's love and every ounce of encouragement he could muster weren't enough.

Then he'd hit upon the solution that had changed everything. One telephone call to his sister was all it took, and Hede was in Salzburg a day later, capably taking over the wedding arrangements. One round of calls on the neighbors, and Maria – bolstered by Hede's unique mix of sophisticated charm and ruthless bullying - had all of Salzburg eating out of her hand. Hede patiently walked the bride-to-be through the details of running an aristocratic household, organized shopping trips for a wedding dress and trousseau, and for a bonus, entertained his family with embarrassing stories of his childhood he'd rather not have had shared. By the time his sister returned to Vienna two weeks later, things were back in order again, just the way Georg liked them.

He couldn't resist another look in Maria's direction. Dressed in a slim shift the color of ripe apricots, her cheeks glowing and hair blown about by the wind, she looked utterly delicious. More important, she looked confident and relaxed.

"You look awfully happy to be getting away. I thought you liked my children," he chided her.

"Oh, of course I do, Georg darling. I adore them, you know that. I loved _them_ before I loved you! But you do realize that since coming to the villa, I've spent every single day with them?"

"Except for your mysterious flight to the Abbey," he reminded her.

"Oh, come now. I was only gone for a few days, a few _very_ confused days full of heartache, if I may remind you. While _you_ had already managed to spend a month in Vienna, waltzing and soaking yourself in champagne, at least to hear you tell it," she teased. "I think it's high time I see for myself what all the fuss is about, don't you?"

They had both been looking forward to this weekend away, notwithstanding the continued presence of Max Detweiler, charming sponge and necessarily evil, who was at this moment snoring gently in the back seat. Max took his duties as chaperon seriously, but as long as the car was moving, he could be forgiven for relaxing his vigilance just a bit. Georg was certain that, should the car's speed drop, Max would snap awake and, while he was at it, issue a reminder that he was only there in response to Georg's panicked invitation, delivered by telephone the very first morning after Maria had accepted his proposal of marriage.

That morning, Georg had spoken to Max of the need for propriety, to safeguard Maria's reputation, to mollify the Reverend Mother, who was not entirely comfortable allowing her ex-postulant to remain at the villa until the wedding. But the real, if unspoken, reason for Georg's urgent appeal, was that it had already become apparent he was not going to be able to keep his hands off of his bride.

Of course, he'd been attracted to Maria for weeks. When had it started? The night they'd danced in the garden, their bodies effortlessly moving together, as they became lost in each other's eyes? No, before that: the evening she'd greeted him after the puppet show, arms thrown wide, her flushed face and wide open gaze; he'd been so disarmed he let her coax him into taking a guitar in his arms for the first time in four years, though he'd rather have had her there. No, before that: something had stirred to life within that day she'd confronted him by the lake. Or even though he didn't like to admit it, the very first moment he'd caught her unawares in his ballroom.

To be fair, his proposal of marriage had come from his heart, and not the stupider muscle lower down that had taken over shortly thereafter. Standing on that balcony, watching Maria make her way to the gazebo, it was as though after four years wandering through a fog of despair, he'd suddenly found himself sailing under clear skies toward a certain destination.

No, it was only after she'd accepted his proposal and given him her soft mouth, that the force of his desire for her roared to life, sweeping all thoughts of decency and restraint from its path. He'd been shocked himself, at how quickly a middle aged man, the sharp edges of desire worn away by grief and nearly twenty years of marriage before that, could revert to a randy, besotted youth.

Within minutes of their first kiss, Georg had led her from the gazebo to his study, where she'd perched in his lap, squirming, returning his kisses with clumsy enthusiasm while he ran his hands hungrily over her slender frame and managed to get her halfway out of her dress. When his mouth found her breast, she'd made a sound – a small, euphoric sound, a sigh of joy and surprise that nearly undid him. That sound had echoed through his dreams for weeks.

Much to his surprise, despite having spent the last three years in Nonnberg Abbey – or perhaps because of it – Maria had welcomed his advances. She might be an innocent, but her passionate responses to him that first night were clearly pure instinct. The same girl who slid down convent bannisters, climbed trees and had fearlessly defied him at every turn, was not one for limits. When he'd fumbled his way through his explanation for summoning Max and slowing things down, she'd only grinned.

"Of course, darling. We both know discipline is your department," she'd teased.

He'd had to bite back a laugh at the unintended double-entendre: let her joke about his naval background, and discover the rest of it after they were safely married.

Lust thrummed in his veins day and night, a raging hunger he feared was insatiable. If it had been up to him, he'd simply have allowed nature to take its course and made nightly visits to the governess' room in the few weeks left until the wedding and their departure for Paris.

But.

Despite a colorful past in the years before his first marriage, and dozens of encounters with women in every corner of the globe, Georg had only very limited experience with innocent virgins, and what little he had was not encouraging. With a heart full of love, he'd taken his patient, gentle time with Agathe, but it had still taken the better part of their three-week wedding trip to the Greek isles, before their lovemaking ended in rapture rather than tears and frustration. This time, although the first signs with Maria were promising, he had prepared for the worst: he had doubled the length of the honeymoon and was resigned to taking things slowly. Georg was a man trained to wait, patiently, until the circumstances were ripe for victory; still, he was finding the wait for Maria nearly intolerable.

He glanced over at her once more. Seeing her face, bright with excitement at the weekend ahead, was surely worth the minor trouble of arranging this trip. While Frau Schmidt held down the fort at home, he would drive the three of them to Vienna, leaving Maria to visit with Hede. Georg would occupy himself with certain business manners, while Max would take advantage of the break in his chaperon duties to make a brief trip south. In three days' time, they would all meet back at Hede's apartment in Vienna and return to Salzburg for the last two weeks' preparation for the wedding.

With a quick glance back at a still-slumbering Max, Georg reached over to squeeze Maria's knee, and was rewarded by an uncertain smile and a charming blush. As the wedding approached, his bride's mood was a jumble of delighted anticipation and growing apprehension. The latter became clearer each time he conferred with her about their trip to Paris, asking her preference about which opera to see, or whether to spend a weekend in the French countryside, or warning her that the evenings might be quite cool. It was a bit of a mystery, given her ardent responses to him that first night: the closer the wedding drew, the way his casual touches, or any reference to their honeymoon, obviously stirred her, but also seemed to put her on edge.

He wasn't worried, exactly, but it was the last such conversation with Maria, one week ago, that had given him the idea for this trip to Vienna. He'd taken out a map of Paris and had tried to show her the basics – the location of their hotel, the major sights, and so on. She was politely attentive for a minute or two, but quickly became distracted, tapping her foot and twisting at her engagement ring.

"Maria," he'd asked gently. "About Paris. Are you – nervous?"

"No," she said, but he could see the shadow cross her face, "of course not. What would I be nervous about?"

"It's perfectly understandable, you know. Everyone is a little nervous about certain things the first time, and I just thought – that is – if you have any questions, or there's any information you need, you could always – ehrm – ask me."

She didn't answer him, not for the longest time, but then finally, and surprisingly:

"All right." She dug the toe of her shoe in the carpet. "Before you were married. The first time, of course. Did you - is it true what people say? That you-?"

"Yes, darling," he said hastily. "I had quite a reputation, but that was all long ago. Young men do foolish things. It has nothing to do with you. Or us, I can assure you."

She was tracing wide circles with her shoe now.

"But what if I-"

"Maria. Darling. You have no idea, do you? How utterly desirable you are?"

"That's not what I – what I meant to say is, what if we get to Paris and things aren't-"

Heart overflowing with love, he'd swept her into his arms.

"Maria, love. Why are you so scared? I'm not that fearsome, am I?" he added, trying to make a joke of it. "Trust me. Everything will turn out fine. Better than fine. It's going to be-"

But then Max had interrupted them.

His little Fraulein surely _was_ a bit of a puzzle, but perhaps that was to be expected. Georg had no expertise in matters of bridal nerves; that had been Agathe's mother's department. And so he'd planned this weekend, in part, with the thought that perhaps Hede – a worldly veteran of countless love affairs - might be encouraged to speak with Maria, reassure her about the wedding night and what would come after.

He gave her knee a last pat and returned his attention to the road.

Maria couldn't help giving a happy little bounce of anticipation. It wasn't very dignified for a baroness-to-be, perhaps, but who could blame her? The day was bright with promise. After a week of rain and dreary skies, fine weather had returned, with the autumn sun setting the woods all around them all aglow, and there was a crisp, hopeful edge to the air. Maria did love the children, but it was a novel experience to be seated next to her handsome and noble Captain, in a luxurious car speeding toward Vienna, a city she'd visited only once or twice in her life. She couldn't wait to see Hede, who had promised a weekend full of shopping, beauty treatments and the kind of fun that mountain girls and postulants from Nonnberg Abbey never had.

She pushed away the unnerving thought that her next trip with Georg would be to Paris. The die was cast; she had put herself in his hands, and there was no point in agonizing about it now. What was going to happen was going to happen. And meanwhile, she was tired of the worries chasing around in her head, with no one to confide in: no mother, no sisters, only a pack of virginal nuns and a few girls from her days in the village who wouldn't possibly understand. Not like Hede. Maria was _terribly_ fond of Hede, and for the first time, the thought occurred to her -

They rode in silence for a while, and then she turned to him.

"Georg?"

"Hm?"

"Why isn't Hede married?"

He laughed. "She likes men too much."

"So she-"

Georg smirked. "She has, and she does, and she will. Women can be just as wicked as men, you know. Don't let her give you any ideas about what you'll be missing, marrying right out of the Abbey."

"I'm quite certain I won't miss a thing," Maria said faintly.

"How would you know?" he shook his head, smiling, but when he glanced her way, she was looking out the window, biting her lip.

It was nearly lunchtime by the time they pulled up outside Hede's building, which sat in a charming neighborhood of elegant apartment buildings interspersed with small shops and cafes, set on wide boulevards flanked by leafy trees. Max, in a hurry to make a train to Budapest, asked them to convey his best wishes to Hede and disappeared into a taxi.

Maria had never seen an apartment building like this, with its bowing doormen, brightly lit lobby and wide, lushly carpeted hallways that didn't smell like cooking or damp laundry. They rode up to Hede's apartment in a gleaming brass lift, and approached an imposing set of double doors set at the very end of a long hallway. When the first ring of the bell got no response, Georg leaned on the buzzer again and then again, until at last, the doors opened a crack and a sliver of someone's face showed through.

"Ah. Jane. There you are! Maria, this is Jane, Hede's maid," Georg began, "and Jane, this is my fiancée, Ma-"

The door opened a tiny bit more, just enough for Maria to take in a tall, wiry woman with steel gray hair pulled into a severe bun, an austere face, and a crisp black uniform.

"Go away, Captain!" the woman hissed.

Georg gave a startled blink.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sorry, Captain von Trapp, but Fraulein Hede has got the fever," the woman said in a frantic whisper. "The doctor was just here. He says she's as strong as an ox and she'll be just fine, but she's terribly contagious."

"Oh, poor Hede!' Maria pushed past Georg. "May I see her, Jane?"

" _No,_ Fraulein," the old woman exclaimed, lodging a hip against firmly against the door, "you mustn't come in here. She asked me to tell you that she is terribly disappointed about your plans for the weekend, but the best thing for her now is to rest. She would not want you to get sick, of course."

"But perhaps - -if I can be of some help?" Maria begged.

"I'll be here taking care of her the whole time, I assure you, but for now you _must_ go!"

"At least let me say hello," Maria asked, surging forward, until a hand clamped around her wrist with surprising force.

"Maria, come away from that door at once!" Georg barked, and he nearly dragged her to stand behind him. "Little fool!"

His tone was so unkind, even harsh, that she felt tears sting her eyes, as though she were a six-year-old who had been reprimanded. Cheeks burning with humiliation, she waited while Georg spoke a last few words to Jane and then took her arm and steered her firmly toward the lift. On the way down, she stole a look at his face, which wore a hard expression, his blue eyes turned to ice and his mouth drawn into a thin line. He stood staring straight ahead, motionless except for the nervous twitch of his fingers by his side. She hadn't seen this Captain in months, and the very sight of him made her feel like she was once again a novice governess, filled with doubts and fears.

When they were back out on the street, he took her elbow and propelled her firmly down the sidewalk, moving so fast that she nearly stumbled over her own feet. By the time he had steered her into a small restaurant, past a bowing maître-d and into a booth, her shame was turning to anger. How dare he order her around like she was just another errant von Trapp child?

He ordered a whiskey for himself and a glass of wine for her.

"I don't want any wine," Maria said sullenly. She rather felt like a child, in fact, now that all the joy had drained out of the day.

He shrugged and, with one efficient motion, drained his whiskey and motioned the waiter for another.

"How dare you," she began, but at the same moment,

"How dare you," he snapped.

She slammed her palms flat against the table, stunning him into silence, and then the words poured out of her, borne on a furious tide.

"You have no right to speak to me that way. We are not on a submarine, and I am not one of the men under your command. I'm going to be your _wife,_ and I will not be treated like – Despite my _background,_ as you like to call it, Georg, I'm quite certain that is not the way a man who is in love with his wife-"

The look on his face, soft and stricken, stopped her cold. Maria looked down at the table, where her fists were clenched in readiness, steeling herself for his reply. But there was no chilly, tight-lipped retort, no shouted rage. Instead, he picked up her hand, studied her palm intently, and said quietly, "You're wrong."

"What?"

"A man who is in love with his wife protects her from harm, first and foremost." He dropped her hand and sat back. "Has it occurred to you that I've already lost one wife to the fever? It's not going to happen again," he said gravely.

"Georg-" She felt the anger drain from her, leaving only regret behind.

"A kind-hearted impulse toward others, I can understand it, even admire it, Maria. But not at my expense. It was a mistake to allow it the last time, when Agathe insisted on nursing Louisa. I simply won't make that mistake again."

She reached across the table to touch his hand.

"Georg, darling. I am so sorry." The shame she felt now was a thousand times worse than what had come before. "I can never think before I act, or speak. Another one of my many faults."

He felt the flush of self-righteous anger recede in the face of something more urgent – the purely carnal instinct that sparked where she touched him. The slightest touch of her hand, and he was as aroused as a teenager. It happened anywhere and everywhere, so much so that he'd learned to keep his hands off of her entirely. Where was Max when you needed him? He glanced around the corner of the booth to survey the half-empty restaurant before turning back to see the hurt that lingered in her wide blue eyes.

"No," Georg said slowly, "I'm the one who ought to apologize. I should not have spoken to you that way, and I'll make it up to you if you'll come over here." He patted the seat next to him.

"Here?" she whispered uncertainly.

From the start, by unspoken agreement, they had avoided any public display of affection, no hand-holding, no chaste kisses, no gentle guiding hand at her back, no contact at all when they were out and about in Salzburg. Maria wasn't sure why, exactly, it was this way between them: was it that her fiancée was too old to act like a lovesick boy? Whatever the reason for his restraint, she was grateful for it, knowing that any gesture of affection would only feed the gossip-mongers.

Anyway, there was no mistaking his devotion to her. She knew Georg loved her – from the way he asked for her the moment he entered the villa, by the weight of his gaze on her, following her around the room, in his the warmth of his voice over the telephone. And in the fervent kisses and caresses they'd shared the night of their engagement, before he'd recruited Max Detweiler as chaperon.

No one could have been more shocked than Maria was at the force of her – desire, she supposed, or passion, or even lust – but these had just been words on a page to her until she'd met her Captain. In fact, she'd let Elsa Schrader chase her back to Nonnberg in part because she _was_ frightened, not only by the tender yearning in his eyes when she broke away from their dance, but by the jolt of desire that had hit her that night, before settling in her belly as a relentless hunger that burned there still.

And while Maria would forever treasure her memories of those magical minutes in the gazebo, lately, she felt nearly _haunted_ by thoughts of what had happened next, in the study, the passionate kisses and other thrilling liberties she'd barely gotten a taste of when Max Detweiler set up shop as resident chaperon. She had been left to crave intimacies that now happened only in her dreams, shameful dreams that left her frustrated and on edge.

She longed to be close to her Captain, but once Max had arrived, Georg, though unfailingly warm and affectionate, appeared firmly in control, as though his needs had been buttoned away beneath jacket, shirt and tie. Now she'd had a glimpse of the fire burning beneath that cool, reserved, exterior, she wondered sometimes - although it would be far too humiliating to ask - did Georg have the same dreams? Had she gotten under his skin the way he'd gotten under hers? Did he burn at the memory of his mouth and fingers against her skin?

There was precious little opportunity to talk with Georg about _things,_ not with Max lurking everywhere. The one or two times she'd mustered up the courage to talk to her Captain about what lay ahead in Paris, the words had stuck in her throat, and he'd dismissed her with a chuckle and a few reassuring words, the verbal equivalent of a pat on the head.

But here in the restaurant, there was no Max Detweiler in sight, and so, in a matter of moments, she was around the table and comfortably nestled against him. When she laced her fingers into his and lifted her face, she was rewarded with a kiss – a kiss that, at first, was perfectly appropriate for an engaged couple in a restaurant, at least until the end, when he bit gently at her lower lip.

"Your _mouth,_ " Georg murmured, and she squeezed his hand, hard, in reply.

His entire body stiffened in instant response, and when he glanced down at her hand, wrapped around his own, his imagination substituted another part of his body for his hand, as though she had squeezed – he shook away the image, violently, and blurted -

"Harder. I mean – ehrm – hard. It's hard, isn't it? Disappointing, that is. The way things worked out with Hede."

Maria let her head drop onto his shoulder and sighed deeply.

"It _is_ disappointing. I was so looking forward to swanning about with Hede."

" _I_ can take you shopping, come to that," he offered, easing his hand from hers and gulping down the last of his whiskey.

"It's not the same thing, darling. And haven't you got some business to conduct?"

Georg had forgotten all about the cottage.

"Ah! Yes, but it won't be possible now. I was going to take a look at a property that's been in the family for years. It's an hour from here, but in the opposite direction from Salzburg. A little cottage my father used to use on hunting trips. Hede doesn't want it, and," he lowered his voice, "it's exactly the kind of thing I'm trying to sell off."

Maria nodded, remembering how he'd explained it all to her, emphasizing the need for secrecy: he was liquidating all the assets he could without attracting notice, and sending the proceeds to England and America, to keep his money away from the Nazis.

"I was planning to spend the next few nights up there, for old times' sake," he continued. "I called ahead and had the steward straighten the place up, and leave some supplies. There are good memories there, so one last visit, and then I thought that if all was in order, I'd tell my solicitor to put it on the market. But that will have to wait until we're back from Paris."

But even as he spoke, his mind had already raced ahead: no successful military strategist could overlook an opportunity like the one that now presented itself: an afternoon alone with Maria, in the countryside she loved, with no Max Detweiler in sight. Another hour alone – or two, possibly, if they made good time – might remind her of the strong connection they'd already established, and take the edge off her bridal nerves. It wouldn't hurt him either, not a bit.

"On second thought, here's what we'll do," Georg motioned to the waiter for the check. "We'll drive up to the cottage, take a quick look around, and then we'll come back to Vienna and take some rooms for the night. We can drive back to Salzburg in the morning."

He could hardly manage to look her in the eye.

"All right, Maria, darling?"

She graced him with an angelic smile and not a moment's hesitation.

"All right, Captain."

 **^#^#^#^#^#**

 **Welcome to my new story! As usual, bits of backstory from other stories will pop up here. I got the idea for it from a reviewer who complained, at some point last year, that I kept writing stories that left M &G in various romantic and deliciously compromising situations, but then never followed through. So this story is going to follow through, which means that in the next chapter or two, it's going to turn quite explicitly M-rated and disappear from the main page of fanfiction updates. If you are under 18, or don't like that kind of thing, then enjoy this chapter, leave me a review, and so long, farewell,** **auf wiedersehen, goodbye, and** **adieu! If you want to know what happens next, you might want to follow the story (after leaving me a review, of course). Don't own TSOM or the characters, it's all for love.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Once they put the bustle of Vienna behind them, the drive up into the hills was pure enchantment. The crisp autumn air stirred her, as did the magnificent vistas that opened up in every direction. Here the terrain was gentler, not the snow-capped spires that surrounded Salzburg, but rolling hills carpeted with lush trees, thickly crowned in crimson and gold.

"Oh, Georg, how splendid!"

"Compared to the Untersburg? How could this possibly impress someone who's lived in the mountains her whole life?" he teased.

"It's not like when you've seen one mountain, you've seen them all," Maria laughed.

After more than an hour spent following winding roads through the hills, Georg turned the car onto an unpaved turnoff that cut sharply downhill until it ended by a rushing creek. There, perched in a wide clearing at the water's edge, stood a tiny cottage. With its pointed red roof, broad veranda and rough stone exterior, it looked like something from a fairy tale.

He sent Maria off to explore the surrounding woods, shed his jacket and tie, and went about his business. Surveyed from the outside, the sturdy cottage was in good condition. The low stone wall had been reinforced, and the garden was tidily prepared for the winter. Scaling the ladder he found around back, he confirmed that repairs on the chimney and roof were complete. Inside, everything was clean and freshly painted, just as he had requested. He made a quick tour of the tiny kitchen, spotless bathroom and cozy bedroom, the big bed made up comfortably, before returning to the big common room, where there was even a fire laid.

Reminding himself to thank his steward, Georg stood in a puddle of golden sunlight, lost in childhood memories of this place. He hadn't been here in more than twenty years, so there were no lurking memories of Agathe or the sad years after her death, only thoughts of his father, and the carefree times they'd spent here. Of course, it was no longer quite so rustic as it had been back then; there was electricity now, and running water, and-

"Georg?" Maria appeared in the doorway. Her eyes sparkled in her radiant face, and there was a smudge of dirt on her forehead, although she still looked lovely in her apricot dress.

"Hello, darling! Find anything exciting out there?"

"I love it here! There are some flowers I don't know about, though, and the trees -"

She dragged him outside for a long traipse through the woods. With his sharp eyes, he was able to point out a fox lurking in the underbrush. He named the flowers she didn't recognize, while she taught him how to listen for the birds' distinctive songs. Before he knew it, the afternoon had flown by. He felt a momentary stab of disappointment before chuckling to himself: his nefarious plans to get her alone had led them, not into sin, but onto a nature hike!

Still, he had enjoyed the afternoon thoroughly. By the time they returned to the cottage, late afternoon shadows painted the big room violet. "It will be dark soon," he said reluctantly. "The road is not well lit, so we ought to be leaving for Vienna."

"Hm," she sighed, "I just need a moment to freshen up, all right?" and disappeared into the bathroom.

Waiting for her return, his thoughts went to the evening ahead, and their return to the city. There were three top hotels in Vienna, and not a single one he wanted to return to, not with their memories of the years he'd wasted running from his children and their mother's memory.

Moreover, no matter which hotel he chose, their arrival would cause a stir. On a Saturday night at the height of the season, Elsa's friends would be everywhere, in every smoke-filled hotel bar. No matter how ostentatiously he went about booking separate rooms for him and Maria, tongues would wag. He'd heard enough of it by now from Max and Hede: to his face, Elsa had accepted the end of their affair graciously, but she'd saturated Vienna with poisonous talk of the little governess who had lured Georg Von Trapp into marriage.

Georg wanted nothing less than to return to that world, except possibly to expose Maria to it. And he wanted nothing _more_ than he wanted Maria. And then he knew it for certain: he simply couldn't bear the waiting, not any more. He knew she deserved better, that he'd condemn any other man for doing what he was about to do, but then again, he knew that nothing could weaken his love for her.

When Maria emerged, she was disappointed to see that he had buttoned himself back into jacket and tie. But he was watching her with the same predatory gleam she'd first seen the evening of the puppet show and then again the night of the party, when she'd nearly drowned in those eyes. Before that dance, she hadn't known that a tender look could be as physical as a caress.

Even now, his intense gaze was still almost too much to bear. She dropped her eyes and flustered, "It is beautiful here. This adorable cottage, like something from a fairy tale. That little creek, rushing by outside. And the animals, of course. When you were a boy, did-?"

"It's time to go," Georg interrupted her, and then he took a deep breath before continuing. "Unless-"

"Unless what?"

"We _could_ stay here," he said carefully.

She went completely still, and his words hung in the space between them for what felt like hours. But it was really only a few moments before she gave him a strangely triumphant look, as though she had worked out the answer to a difficult riddle, and then she muttered something he didn't quite catch.

"Max thinks you're with Hede." He made his case in a blundering rush. "And Hede thinks we've gone back to Salzburg. No one knows-"

"I said _yes_ ," she interrupted him in a fierce whisper.

Although this was precisely the response he'd hoped for, it had come too readily, leaving him uneasy, somehow.

"Ah, but do you know _what_ you've agreed to, Maria?"

"I'm not a child," she flared. "And I'm not afraid of you, either," she said, lifting her chin, and knotting her fingers together, as though she could hide the way they trembled so.

Smiling, he took her hands firmly in his, lifted them to his mouth, and kissed each palm in turn. "No? Maybe you should be."

He didn't know whether to be alarmed or aroused by the visible shiver that went through her.

"All right. Maybe I _am_ afraid, but I want to stay," she insisted.

He dropped her hands and stepped back, giving her an appraising look. "Are you sure you won't regret it?"

She blinked once, twice, three times and then shook her head, slowly, her gaze still fixed firmly on his face.

"Maria," he cleared his throat. "Do you even know - that is, has anyone told you – I mean, do you know anything about –?"

"Not much," she gave him a saucy smile, "I'll need lots of advice."

But there was something – _false_ about her smile, Georg thought, and it faded quickly as she continued, awkwardly, "I know enough. What goes where, I mean. And _you_ know I would do _anything_ for you. You've already got my heart, after all."

This unusually biddable Maria was extremely enticing, but at the same time, there was something unnerving about her demeanor: her face was pale where it ought to have been flushed, and it held an innocent and worrisome trust. He had a momentary twinge of regret mixed with fear: what had he gotten them both into? _She_ might have no idea, but he did. Moreover, after weeks of wandering about in a lust-induced haze, it occurred to him for the first time that he had reasons of his own to be apprehensive. Several reasons, in fact. Perhaps it might be safer to wait until Paris. Perhaps he ought to at least try, one last time, to scare her off, before he did them both damage.

"Look. This is not a game," he cautioned her, adding brashly, "If we stay here, I'm going to remove every stitch of your clothing, take you into that bedroom, and make love to you."

But his words achieved the opposite of their desired effect, it seemed, for while her cheeks flooded with color, the audible catch in her breath and a flicker in her widening blue eyes told him something he'd never otherwise have guessed: his little governess, his innocent Fraulein, was aroused by naughty talk. He filed that discovery away for future use.

"I _know_ that, Georg. This is what I want."

He managed a grim smile. "Well, then, darling. It appears to be all arranged." He crooked a finger at her. "Come here."

It was a command, not a request. Before Maria could lose her nerve, she went into his arms and lifted her face to his.

It was also a dare, she could tell that. He was challenging her, trying to get her to back down before things went too far. This was no longer the tender, merry Captain who had wooed her in his study _. This_ Captain was ruthless; there was nothing tentative about his tongue, filling her mouth, or his thumbs, rubbing the tips of her breasts into aching pebbles. When he ran his hands along her waist and cupped her bottom firmly against him, leaving no doubt about what went where, she found herself rising on her toes, yearning to be closer to him. The heat of his mouth and his hands on her sunk through her clothing and melted her, left her boneless and gasping for breath; without his strong arms around her, she would simply collapse in a heap.

Georg told himself that he had done the best job he could do, under the circumstances, to warn her. Now it was too late for any of that. His fears for himself were forgotten as well, at least for the moment. He couldn't think about honor, or responsibility, or the potential for disaster; he couldn't think about much, really, since all the blood in his body had fled his brain and resided elsewhere in his body.

Despite the long drought that had begun with Max's arrival, he hadn't been able to forget the way she kissed, with a unique mix of clumsy enthusiasm and raw passion that led his thoughts straight into depravity. He was entirely focused on her mouth now. That _mouth_! He yanked her closer, pulled her lower lip between his teeth and bit down gently, until she let out a little moan that nearly undid him. Then he dragged his mouth from hers, finding the pulse that beat frantically behind her ear and worrying the skin there until he felt a shudder go straight through her. Feeling far too close to the precarious edge of his self-control, he released her, nearly shoving her away so that she stumbled backward with a little cry. He caught her by the wrist to steady her; any more contact than that, and he'd-

She tried to keep her voice even, despite the excitement that danced through her veins.

"Are you going to make love to me now?"

"No, I'm not."

His face relaxed into a sudden and unexpected smile, and then she relaxed too, at the glint of humor in his eyes.

"I, dear Fraulein, am going to get the bags from the boot, and you are going to see what was left for us in the kitchen. I rushed the two of us out of that restaurant without lunch, and I don't know about you, but I'm famished. And," - he sent a menacing grin her way- "you're going to need your strength."

 **OoOoOoOoOo**

He had found a quilt to spread over the rough stone floor, and they had a picnic of cheese, sausage, bread, fruit and wine in front of the fireplace, although she found she couldn't eat very much. Georg had removed his jacket and tie again, and Maria found herself curious about the bare skin under his open collar, and completely distracted by the sight of him slicing bread, his long fingers and capable wrists peeking from beneath rolled up sleeves. She wiped her clammy palms against her skirt, and tried to pay attention while he entertained her with stories of his childhood adventures in the surrounding forest. After a while, they lapsed into silence and watched the flames leap and flicker.

He'd kept up the story-telling for as long as he could, to quell the doubts lurking at the edges of his mind. Then he managed to distract himself a few minutes longer by considering the dusting of freckles on her nose, and by contemplating where else he'd find her skin freckled. His need for her was straining against what was left of his self-control. Surely he'd waited long enough by now?

"It's time to go to bed," he broke the silence abruptly.

Maria frowned. "But I'm not tired! It's not even eight-"

He raised an eyebrow. "I said to bed, not to sleep."

"Oh!" she flustered, her cheeks staining pink. "Of course. I'll go get ready," she said, and before he could say anything else, she had scrambled to her feet and hurried into the bedroom.

His idea of "getting ready" hadn't involved much besides stripping her bare, and the delay gave his disordered mind an unfortunate opportunity to revisit his twin fears of embarrassing himself or frightening her. Which would be worse? The empty disappointment that had shadowed that disastrous trip to Milan two years ago? Or the unwelcome reappearance of the depraved and heedless scoundrel of his youth? Simply waiting to find out exactly which disaster lay ahead was intolerable. He hoisted himself to his feet and went to find his bride.

 **OoOoOoOo**

Maria looked around the small bedroom, which had a rustic appeal that reminded her of her childhood home in the mountains, but was far more comfortably appointed. A small lamp burned low in one corner, but otherwise, the room lay in shadows, so that she could barely make out a brightly slipcovered armchair, a mirror hanging over a row of hooks, and – her heart skipped a beat - a big bed piled with pillows and quilts. Grimacing ruefully at the thought of the negligee she'd purchased for her wedding night, resting in its box back in Salzburg, she went digging through her bag until she unearthed her flannel nightgown and hung it on a hook.

Standing in front of the mirror, she reached behind her to unzip her dress, but her traitorous hands were shaking so hard she couldn't quite grip the pull.

"Do you need help?"

Her heart was thumping so loudly that she hadn't heard Georg come in, but there he was, standing close behind her.

"No, I can manage."

"Yes, love, but it's more fun this way."

He brushed her hands away and lowered the zipper an inch before pressing his lips to the sensitive skin at the back of her neck, so that she could feel the heat of his mouth as he took his maddeningly slow time unzipping her dress, inch by torturous inch. She felt the dress loosen around her until he pushed it from her shoulders and let it crumple at her waist. From behind her came an amused chuckle, as he slid a finger beneath the strap of her chemise.

"What's this?"

When he put her hands on her shoulders and turned her around, Maria could see his expression change from amusement, to astonishment, and then to something else, something wicked, dark and tempting. His finger traced the border where satin ribbon met sheer silk, just above her breasts, and then slid underneath.

"You wore these things for Hede?"

Through her fog of embarrassment and arousal, Maria managed a strangled laugh.

He reached down to find the hem of the chemise and lifted it just enough to survey what lay underneath.

"You didn't get those knickers at Nonnberg Abbey," he whispered.

"N-no," she said, keeping her gaze cast downward on the extravagant undergarments of silk and lace. "Hede and I bought them for my trousseau. But once I knew I had them, it was very hard to leave them in their boxes and keep wearing the old ones from the Abbey. And anyway, they give me confidence.''

"They ought to," he muttered, and then he fell silent, stepping back and looking her up and down intensely until she shifted uneasily from one foot to the other

"Is there something – wrong?"

He answered her with the voice of a stranger, rough and urgent. "No. _No!_ You-You are – turn around."

"What?"

He turned her around again, so that she faced the mirror.

"Look how beautiful you are, Fraulein."

Some modest reflex made her try to cross her arms over her chest, but Georg wouldn't allow it, using his elbows to imprison her arms against her sides while his large hands gently squeezed her breasts through the silky fabric. The sight of his hands on her, and the burn of his mouth when he bent to the bare skin of her shoulder, made her so dizzy that the floor tilted underneath, but his arms anchored her against his solid strength. She arched into his touch, desire shimmering like the silk and satin against her skin. He ran his fingers lightly across her breasts one more time before turning her back to face him and settling his mouth on hers.

It was a demanding, greedy kiss, one that left her so light-headed, that she barely noticed his nimble fingers pulling at straps and hooks, pushing and tugging, until she realized he'd kissed her out of everything except her knickers and her stockings. Every bare inch of skin prickled with delicious sensation – the cool evening air, the rough weave of his clothing, the soft, wet pull of his mouth sucking at the skin of her neck. He still had his arms wrapped tightly around her, but she wriggled free enough to rub herself against him, like a cat yearning to be stroked.

It was finally happening! Everything was moving so fast, the sensations coming at her one on top of the next, and the reality was a million times better than her best dream could have been, with no room left for fear.

"Now it's your turn," Georg ordered her.

"You mean you want me to-"

"Undress me, yes."

He stood still as a statue as she began to unbutton his shirt, her hands trembling. Once he'd shrugged it away, she danced her fingers over the unfamiliar and tempting contours of warm skin and muscle and hair, first tentatively and then, hearing his breathing grow rough, with more confidence. He was beautiful. _Magnificent_.

"Keep going," he said. His voice was soft, but there was no missing the command in it.

Maria set herself to unbuttoning his trousers, feeling her cheeks burn when there was no way to avoid brushing against the obvious signs of his arousal. His sharp gasp for breath stirred something to life within her, some wild impulse that led her to press her palm against that curious swelling. He reacted instantly, pushing her hands aside and kicking his way out of the rest of his clothing.

Her heart nearly leapt from chest at the sight: it so mesmerized her, that she stared in horror for a speechless ten seconds or more before squeezing her eyes shut. But the image of something monstrous remained, burned behind her eyelids: enormous, rampant, purple-red and veined.

"Maria?"

Her dreamy expression, flushed with desire, had been replaced by pale terror. Her eyes were open again, but remained fixed firmly on the floor. "That not going to work," she said flatly. "It's too-"

"That's just me wanting you, Maria."

"Are you like that all the time?"

"Around you? Yes, I'm afraid so. Or very nearly. Now if you'd just-"

"Is there something wrong with you? Because I've seen plenty of statues. And paintings. And I don't think most people, I mean men, are -" She gestured vaguely with her hand.

"I'm fairly certain they are, actually, though I wouldn't know."

"You can't – I mean, I'm not going to be able to-"

"Yes, you are, love, I promise. Don't worry. Your body is perfectly made for mine, you'll see. I wish that you would let me show you, but," he paused, "I'm not going to force you. If you'd prefer, we can stop right here, and I'll go sleep out there, by the fireplace."

Maria wavered, pondering the worse of two fearsome choices. She'd already convinced herself that it was better to get things over with tonight, and what would be gained by delaying the inevitable? After all, she'd already decided to trust him with _everything_.

"All right," she whispered. "You can show me."

"Sit," Georg said, nodding toward the armchair and when she still hesitated, "Please." Hurrying back into his trousers, he watched her perch warily on the edge of her seat and close her eyes again.

Her reaction had been like a bucket of ice water dumped over him, shocking but also sharpening his passion-muddled mind. Remembering how his blunt words had stirred her earlier, he dropped to his knees before her and said, "I'm going to need you naked for this. Open your legs for me, darling, so we can get these things off of you."

She felt her face turn warm as he went to work, unbuckling her garters with surprising speed.

"Open just a bit more, darling. So I can reach these last two."

Her eyes flew open at his request, only to close again when she saw Georg on his knees, but it didn't help: she could still feel his gaze on her. She forced her knees another few inches apart and tried not to think about where he was looking.

"Very good. Now," he said, still with that calming, matter-of-fact tone, as though it were every day that he knelt at the feet of his nearly-naked fiancée. He let his hands hover over the skin at the top of her stocking for so long that she nearly shouted at him to get on with it. At last, with deft care, he began to unroll her stocking.

All her senses narrowed to the soft brush of his fingers against her skin as they slid, from thigh to knee to ankle. One stocking disposed of, his mouth found the back of her knee, where the skin was suddenly exquisitely sensitive, and lingered there for a minute or two. Then it started all over again, the tickle of his fingers removing her stocking, the kisses pressed to the back of her knee.

His hands swept back up to the top of her bare legs, where he traced a loose, lazy pattern over her skin, occasionally drifting into the creases between her legs and her body. The slow strokes left a trail of fire everywhere he touched. Maria slumped against the back of the chair, helpless, as the warmth in her belly spread everywhere, until her fingers and toes curled against it.

"Doesn't that feel good?" he purred, increasing the pressure against her skin just the slightest bit.

"Y-yes," she breathed. Though she'd rather die than admit it, she wanted, no, she _craved,_ more of his touch right _there,_ in the middle. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do about it, though, so there was nothing to do but try to stay quiet and trust him. That was the point, wasn't it?

Now each of his hands played around the legs of her knickers, tugging gently at the lace edging and then sliding underneath to tickle the soft skin of her belly, the two hands moving closer to each other until they nearly met. When he used his palms to push her legs even farther apart and then cupped one hand firmly against her, she had to bite her lip hard to hold back a cry.

"You know, darling," Georg murmured, "someday you're going to be able to tell me just how you want me to touch you. You'll beg for it, in fact. But just for tonight, you don't have to worry. I'll take care of you, and I know _exactly_ what you need."

In one deft movement, he had lifted her enough to strip her knickers away. As light as a feather, as soft as a cloud, his thumbs brushed across her center and she couldn't hold back a little sob. But he seemed too absorbed by his task to notice, thank heaven.

Now both strong hands circled her ankles, gripping them firmly before sliding up her calves, still with a steady touch that relaxed and reassured her. But in the next moment, he had reached behind her knees and lifted her legs to hang over the chair's arms, opening her wide to his scrutiny.

"Georg! What are you-?"

"Are you uncomfortable? Does that hurt?"

Desire and embarrassment fought to respond. "Not exactly, but it's _humiliating_. Can't you just - oh, Georg, please-"

"Hush."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Well, I do. You are lovely. No. You are _perfect."_

Slowly, carefully, he explored her, caressing her in places where she'd never been touched before, delicately circling a place made of exquisite sensation. She found herself leaning into his touch, opening to him. Every inch of her was flushed with heat, her heart was racing and her breath came faster, in hard pants. When a gentle finger entered her, Maria closed her eyes, lost in pleasure.

"Eyes open," he said softly. When she forced herself to look at him, he was watching her intently as two long fingers searched inside until they found another place made of fire. She couldn't contain a loud cry, but quickly pressed her fists into her mouth to smother any more errant sounds.

Almost instantly, he reached up and pulled her hands away from her mouth, settling them firmly on her knees. "Your hands stay right where they are." The command was gentle but unmistakable. "I intend to make you scream, and I want to hear it when you do. There's no one else around for miles anyway," he said, with the slightest menacing edge to his voice. "You might as well let go."

"And when are _you_ going to scream?" she asked shakily.

"Soon enough, with any luck," he said, with a hard glitter in his eyes. "But so long as you're still capable of speech, my work is not done here. Instead of being impertinent, why don't you tell me how this is for you? How you feel."

"I can't. I just _can't._ I don't know how to. Can't you just-" she pleaded. He had promised to give her what she needed, and she wasn't sure what that was, but it surely wasn't an argument.

"Tell me," Georg coaxed, but when the words wouldn't come unstuck from her throat, he came to her aid. "I think you do like it. Because I see a beautiful young woman who is very aroused. Yes, I think the word you're looking for is _aroused_. Just feel how wet you are. Do you know why? That's you wanting me. Getting ready to take me inside your beautiful body."

He resumed his gentle, relentless caresses, inside, outside, everywhere all at once. A red haze gathered behind her eyelids, and she found it was a relief to let herself moan and whimper, it was _heavenly,_ the way she felt, and the things he was saying to her, it was –

Abruptly, his fingers stilled and he settled a hand firmly on her thighs, nudging her legs even a little farther apart.

Her eyes flew open just in time to see his dark head come close to her.

"Georg, I don't think-"

"Good," he said briefly. "I don't want you thinking."

"But you can't-!" she protested weakly.

"Oh, but I must. You're going to have to trust me. And as I'm the one in charge, you don't really have a choice. Now be quiet," the dark voice like steel and velvet, and the scrape of his cheek against her soft skin, "and let me kiss you open."

Maria was trembling with fear – not fear of _him_ , but of the force of her desire for him, an ache so strong she was actually going to let him –

She nearly jumped from her skin when the first open-mouthed kiss shot through her like lightning. At first, it was hard to relax, tense as she was with embarrassment on the one hand, and anxiety that he would stop on the other. But there was no mistaking the hunger with which he consumed her, and she quickly came to understand that she could trust him to give her what she craved, that there would be no end to the insistent onslaught of that clever mouth. Shaking with need, she pushed against him, giving herself over to soft tongue and firm lips that stroked and probed and flicked against her skin, carrying her on a tide of rapture that swept away not only any lingering shyness, but any coherent thought at all.

The room filled with wild, abandoned cries, and behind her eyelids, the red haze melted into a pure, white light, a light that grew higher and brighter and more intense until it exploded, shattering her into a million pieces.

He stayed with her, coaxing a few last shudders from her until she pushed him away.

"No more," she gasped. 'I can't'-"

"Yes, you can. And you will." He stilled, but she could feel the shape of his smile against her thigh.

Was he laughing at her? Her euphoria quickly gave way to shame. What must he think of her unladylike behavior? "I'm sorry, Georg, I don't know what-"

"Maria, love," he said tenderly, with no trace of command or teasing remaining in his voice. In between feathering kisses up and down her legs, he continued, "We are going to be together for years and years. We are going to make love thousands of times, in ways you cannot even begin to imagine. And that is the last time you are ever going to apologize for loving me. Do you understand?"

Without waiting for her answer, he kissed his way up her belly, stopping to attend to her breasts at some length. Between the lingering throb between her legs and the hot tug of his mouth, she was in a daze by the time he rose, scooped her into his arms and deposited her gently on the bed.

"Don't go anywhere," he whispered, and turned away to remove his trousers. As though she could possibly have moved!, overwhelmed as she was by the sensations he had drawn from her, and by his size and strength and very presence.

When Georg returned to the bed, she lay under him, bracketed by his arms, aware of his weight suspended over her, and trying not to think about the evidence of his desire that lay between them, bobbing against her blindly, insistently, until he began to push his way into her. There was momentary comfort in the brush of his lips against her forehead, and a whispered endearment.

Maria willed herself to open to him, but it seemed impossible. There was no pain, but there was also no pleasure in it at all, only a growing sense of panic: his massive body blocked the dim lamplight, leaving her lost in the dark, close room, drowning in the heat and scent of him. Although she surely had nothing more to surrender, still he inched forward.

The world spun dizzily around her, but then his eyes found hers in the near-darkness and steadied her. Those blue eyes were her anchor, and she held fast to his gaze, but the stretch was too much to bear. "Georg," she whispered, "I need to -"

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, "the worst is nearly over," but she knew he was lying.

"Wait – just give me a moment. So I can -" she protested. She braced her feet against the bed and lifted up against him, intending to hinder his progress. But the motion accomplished exactly the opposite of what she'd intended. With a harsh exclamation, he slid the rest of the way inside her. For a moment, she had to squeeze her eyes shut against the sudden sting of tears, and the strange sensation when, after an odd moment of hesitation, he began to move against her, careful movements at first, that grew deeper but remained deliberate, nearly _reluctant_ , somehow.

There was a raw intimacy in the sound of flesh on flesh, and his dark, incoherent sounds, and the earthy smells, and his face, gone taut with effort. And then there was a quickening where their bodies were joined, just a flicker at first, but then an undeniable warmth that began to gather strength and heat, and Maria strained against him, in pursuit of it -

Suddenly, he pushed up on his hands, and the slow, elegant rhythm vanished as he thrust frantically against her, crying out something – it could have been her name, it could have been a prayer. There was a moment when his eyes locked on hers, a gaze at once fierce and beseeching, and then his whole face crumbled. A last, violent shudder rocked his body and he collapsed half on top of her, so that her face pressed tightly to his chest.

In the wake of chaos, everything suddenly went so still that she could hear his heartbeat, a thundering gallop that gradually slowed. Her heart swelled with love for her Captain, the way his passion at the end had made him _hers_ , vulnerable and needy. Perhaps it hadn't been so bad, after all. The night air whispered against her heated skin, a welcome coolness that soon turned cold, but she was suddenly aware of how horribly sticky everything was, and then there was the crushing weight of him, and- was he asleep?

"Georg-"

He stirred, then, but he only stared at her briefly, as though he wasn't sure he recognized her, before he rolled from the bed and disappeared into the main room. When he returned to the bedroom, he opened his mouth as though to speak, closed it, and left the room again. Three times in a row he repeated this ritual, and each time, Maria's heart climbed higher in her throat. At last, when the dread and anticipation were almost too much to bear, he spoke at last.

"Maria? I want a truthful answer from you."

Her heart slammed against her ribs, but she tried to stay calm. Slowly, deliberately, she sat up, tucked the bedsheet under her arms, and folded her hands in her lap. She regarded those poor, innocent, hands for a moment, the way they were resting there expectantly, barely trembling at all, waiting to be used for something ordinary, like praying, or knitting, or holding a book. As though her world wasn't about to fall apart.

When she forced herself to look at him, his face was unreadable, his eyes gone dark and narrow, without a sign of the tenderness or wry humor Maria was used to seeing there. And when he spoke again, his voice was deadly calm.

"Was this your first time?" .

She had to look away from him, into the shadowy corners of the bedroom. Maria had prepared for this moment for weeks, resolving to explain herself calmly, and then to accept his reaction with courage and grace. But now that the time was here, she could not find her voice at all. Instead, she managed, just barely, to shake her head, and let her lips form the soundless word.

 _No._

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 ***Pauses to take deep breath.***

 **I don't own anything about TSOM or its characters.  
**

 **I am so touched and thrilled by the many reviews for the first chapter of this story; there were so many requests for an update that I didn't follow my usual practice of thanking everyone for reviews before posting this. I'm sorry this one took a while – I had a bit of a vacation in between – they should come more quickly, so to speak, from now on. I'm also sorry this was so long, but I couldn't figure out how to break it up any other way.**

 **Thanks as always to lemacd for her tolerant and patient support, to shahrazad63 for inspiring me with her return to writing, and also for encouraging my interest in a different fandom that has bolstered my TSOM writing (Is it possible that some of you may have picked up a salute or two to that "other" fandom?) Don't worry, I'm not leaving the TSOM fandom though.**

 **Please leave me a review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**OoOoOoOoOo**

 **Chapter 3**

 **OoOoOoOoOo**

The room filled with a long and awkward silence.

"I see. Were you - ehrm - _forced_?" Georg said grimly.

Another silent shake of her head. Although the room was warm, Maria began to shiver.

He began to pace the small bedroom, fingers twitching at his side.

"You were in love, then."

At last, she found her voice.

"I don't know. I don't _know_! I mean, I thought I was, of course. But I wasn't, not really, you see-" the rest of the sentence faded into the shadowy corners of the room.

"Why didn't you tell me, Maria?"

For all the times she'd rehearsed the scene in her mind, it had never occurred to her that he would ask something so unbelievably _absurd. S_ he couldn't hold back a sob of laughter. "I tried, once or twice, but you didn't seem to understand me, and I didn't know how to – what exactly _would_ you have had me say, Georg?"

His eyes narrowed. "So you intended to keep it from me."

Maria frowned. "No! How would - I assumed you'd be able to tell. I mean, when the time came. Can't a man always-?"

"I don't think so. I don't know. It's not as though I've made a habit of deflowering virgins," he said icily, and then he stopped his pacing abruptly to squint at her. "I don't understand you, Maria. I couldn't wait to get you into bed. And when you agreed to stay with me tonight, I thought you couldn't wait to be there. But you _knew_ this would happen. Why now? Why tonight?"

"But that's just it!" she burst out. "The closer we got to the wedding, the more I worried about what would happen when you found out. I tried to tell you, I swear it, but I couldn't manage it. About tonight - I did want to be with you," she said, and her voice dropped, low and intense. "I _did_. But I also wanted you to _know_ , before it was too late."

"Too late?"

"I just thought that you might," she swallowed, "change your mind. About marrying me. _That's_ what's been torturing me. I thought it wasn't fair to wait until Paris for you to find out."

Maria could feel her heart lying like a stone in her chest, and there really wasn't anything left for her to say, or do, except to wait for his response. But there was nothing but a silence so profound she could hear the creek outside rushing by, and the rustle of the night breeze through the trees. Somehow, she'd imagined that he would shout and threaten her, like he had that day by the lake, but this, of course, was different. And worse. Much worse.

When she forced herself to look at his face again, she hoped to find acceptance, and expected anger, but found only confusion.

" _For the properly prepared naval commander, there is no such thing as a surprise attack_ ," he could hear his Naval Academy instructor say, and yet nothing could have prepared Georg for what was surely one of the greatest shocks of his life. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the young woman who sat in the middle of the bed before him, hands folded in her lap, like a prisoner awaiting a verdict.

She didn't _look_ all that different, really, except perhaps for her odd composure, as though her sparkle had gone missing. It made no sense, what was saying. No sense at all! That night in the gazebo - she hadn't even known how to kiss, not properly. And then later, in his study, she had responded to his advances eagerly, but with a kind of astonished delight, as though she was surprised to learn that a man might want to kiss her breasts, let alone that she'd find pleasure in it. Still, there was no question that she had a passionate nature, and that she went about things with a sort of reckless zeal. And then there was her reaction to a bit of naughty talk: it was hardly what you'd expect of an innocent, would you?

"Georg. Please say something."

"I don't know what to say."

"Then I do. You don't have to marry me," she said quietly.

Even with his mind in chaos, he couldn't help but be moved by how well he understood her: he knew that behind her brave façade, her heart was breaking. It was as though she were standing at the bottom of the terrace stairs again, congratulating him on his engagement to Elsa, with all the love she yearned to give him written plainly on her face. How could he turn her away again? And yet-

"Nothing has changed," he said tightly, although they both knew everything had. "It's a blow, is all. To know that you've been playing the innocent."

"Playing?" her eyes widened with fury and pain. " _Playing_? What happened tonight? I had no idea about any of that!"

"Come now, Maria. Do you mean to tell me-?"

His head had begun to throb and he was suddenly and profoundly _exhausted._ Not an hour earlier, he had sated himself in a woman's arms for the first time in years. Exhaustion was only the beginning of it. He was positively numb, in fact. He pressed his hands to his eyes.

"Sleep. I need to sleep. You need to sleep. This situation will still be here in the morning."

"I am not a situation!" When she gestured wildly, the sheet slipped from her body, revealing her lovely breasts.

He snatched her flannel nightgown from where it hung on a hook "Put this on," he ordered, tossing it into her lap, "and go to sleep."

"But Georg-" she protested.

"Go to sleep, Maria. Whatever's going to happen is going to happen tomorrow."

He dug through his valise until he found a pair of pajamas, packed when this trip was planned very differently. He pulled them on, climbed into bed and reached to turn out the light.

Despite his exhaustion, he lay awake in the darkness for a long time, craving sleep, but unable to find it. How long had he anticipated it, the heat and intensity of their connection, looked forward to lying next to the woman he loved, skin to skin? Now, although she was only an arms-length away, the awkward gulf between them might as well have been a thousand miles. When he strained to hear her breathing, it became apparent that she was crying, and trying with only partial success to hide it.

Her face, standing there at the bottom of the steps-

"Come on then," Georg beckoned, reaching out to touch her shoulder. When she crawled into his arms, he settled her against him gingerly and waited once again for sleep.

He dreamt first of the disastrous weekend in Milan. He'd gone there on business two years after Agathe's death, and spent an evening at the Opera with some associates. Afterward, they'd gone backstage to meet the star, a dramatically beautiful woman with violet eyes, a cloud of dark curls and a generously curving body. Aurora Duchamps – her stage name, no doubt – was nothing like Agathe.

After dinner, a smaller group went onto a café for a show, a few hardly souls repaired to the hotel bar, and then it was just the two of them. Even in a drunken haze, he hadn't forgotten that he'd never love anyone the way he'd loved his wife, but his body had begun to make certain demands of him, and he found himself craving the opportunity to lose himself in a woman's arms, the way he had as a younger man.

The dream was, thankfully, rather hazy about what had happened next, offering only a few remembered shards: humiliation, disappointment, and blundering apology. He half-woke, long enough to know with relief that Aurora Duchamps was just a bitter memory, and long enough to find Maria had her arms around his neck in a death-grip.

After Milan, he'd stopped drinking for a time, put aside his carnal appetites and any hope of resuming the rakish habits of his youth, and found himself relaxing in the company of Elsa Schrader, who made clear that she was no more interested in passion than he was. They'd had that in common, at least.

He made a halfhearted attempt to free himself from Maria's arms, and then closed his eyes, thinking of Elsa.

The day after the party had brought torrents of rain. But the gloomy weather was nothing next to the darkness inside the villa. The older children brooded silently over breakfast, while the younger ones wept inconsolably at the news of their governess' departure until, at last, he barked at them to return to the nursery. Liesl shot him a venomous look on her way out of the room, but at least without the evidence of their grief, he could retreat into a dazed, unthinking state. He'd spent the rest of the day in his study, drinking for the first time since Milan, but no amount of alcohol couldn't drown out the memory that dance: aria's slender waist under his hands, and the glimpse he'd gotten of her long, supple legs.

The walls were already closing in when Elsa sought him out. It wasn't her way to whine or demand, and she didn't need to. Not with the stab of remorse he felt for his role in last night's mess: a party called in her honor had only served to humiliate and disappoint her. And then there was everything she'd done for him, the way he'd clung to her hands during his first forays back into the concert halls he and Agathe had frequented. Elsa's hands had bled where her rings had cut into them.

"Enough is enough, Georg. It's high time," was all she said, firmly but graciously.

The walls of the study pressed in on him. The ferocious rain drummed at the windows, and something cold and terrifying gnawed at his insides, until he'd have done anything for a moment's peace. He knew what he ought to say: "You're right, Elsa. I should have asked you long ago to be my wife," but this time, when he opened his mouth, he could not make the words come.

Georg came awake again, gasping for air, poised to flee Elsa and his study, only to find himself in the tiny bedroom of his father's old hunting cabin, barely brightened by the morning's first dim light. Elsa Schrader was in the past, and his little Fraulein was lying with her back to him, her bottom wedged temptingly against his midsection, while his hands were somehow full of her round breasts, swathed in worn flannel.

But then his chest nearly exploded with the remembered force of Maria's revelation. He couldn't think clearly, not with her curled against him, and he needed to _think_. If only he could be out on the water, standing firm on a surface rocked by the waves, with the wide-open sky arched above him.

Air. He needed air.

He slid from bed, and hurried outside, onto the broad veranda that ran around the cottage. All around him, thick clusters of trees reached toward the heavens, but he could just make out a quarter moon floating high above them, and a single star, lingering in the very early morning sky.

It had made a national hero out of him, his uncanny ability, in the midst of the madness and turmoil of war, to sort through the facts of the matter, in an orderly, systematic way, to see his way through to a victory even when circumstances seemed hopeless. Only once had this valuable trait eluded him, after Agathe's death, a loss so senseless that it defined any attempt at logic and reason, leaving him to thoroughly fall apart and very nearly destroy his family.

He would not allow himself to descend into that darkness again, not without a fight, and so he tried, as methodically as he could, to ponder the problem called Maria.

Was he angry at her? No. Looking back, he could see now that she _had_ tried to tell him her secret. Indeed, she had even taken the enormous risk of letting him discover it before the wedding. He was convinced that she'd neither intended to deceive him, nor even believed she could.

Disappointed? No. His fantasies about Maria hadn't extended to taking her virginity. If he were perfectly honest with himself, he'd viewed that as an ordeal to be gotten past. He had thought only about what might happen between them with time and experience, what she could be coaxed to do with those long legs and generous mouth. How she would taste, and smell. And who was he, a man who had romped his way through legions of women, to condemn her for one youthful mistake?

 _If_ that's all it had been.

The thing of it was, he couldn't even imagine Maria in such a situation. Until last night, he thought he'd known everything there was to know about her. She hadn't had an easy time of it, orphaned at six, raised by a grudging aunt and uncle without cruelty, but without love either. She had worked her way through school to earn a teaching certificate, struggling all the while to understand the call she felt to serve God. Not to mention the night of the party, when he'd let his callous panic and indecision break her heart.

While they had each experienced their share of tragedy and loss, Maria was unfailingly transparent and matter-of-fact about her wicked childhood, even with his children. "Do you know, Fraulein Maria hasn't got a mother, but she hasn't got a father either," Marta had informed him that first night he'd returned from Vienna with Elsa. _He_ was the one who had deliberately hidden his grief away, as befit a man of his background and station. It felt like an insult, learning that she had kept this secret from him. He had made certain assumptions about her, and now he wondered: had he really known her at all? If she still looked just as she always had to him, what might he be failing to see? What else had she kept hidden?

By now, Georg had abandoned his logical approach and let his thoughts fly in every direction. The truth was that, whoever she really was, from the moment Maria had appeared in his ballroom and turned his life upside down, everything had gotten better. Wild resentment rose up in him: what had a lifetime of order and discipline and rules gotten him, exactly? This summer had challenged nearly every one of his long-held beliefs, most recently the one that a badly broken heart could never heal. Now Maria's past challenged a belief so firmly held he'd never questioned it: wicked behavior before marriage was entertaining for men, but unthinkable for their brides. Was this sufficient reason to send her away, to resume the cycle of loss and grief for himself and his family?

No. He loved his little Fraulein, deeply. Nothing was going to change that. Having been lucky enough to have her save his family, having already broken a rule or two of polite society by wooing her, he wasn't about to let moral conventions keep him from marrying her. His children wouldn't have let him, even if he'd wanted to.

When it came to moral convention, though…

The last time he'd visited the cottage, he was barely a year out of the Naval Academy, and, along with his closest friends, had already acquired a reputation on three continents for riotous behavior involving liquor, gambling and women. _Especially_ women. "I was the same way at your age," his father chuckled, "until I met your mother and reformed." Georg had been so sure no such reforming female lay ahead for him, although he'd been wrong about that, hadn't he?

What he remembered now, though, was his father's gentle admonition, delivered during a talk on this very veranda. "Be careful with women, Georg. Stay away from the innocents. A woman's first lover tends to-" he'd hesitated, looking for the right word "-imprint himself on her heart. Leave a bit of himself behind. And I'm not talking about the risk of a child, that's another thing entirely…"

 _Imprinted_. The word rattled around in his mind, which went immediately to the mystery man who'd lain with an innocent Maria. "She is _mine_ ," he muttered under his breath, and for a moment, his thoughts went blank at the thought of another man's hands on her, another man's mouth-

This was at the heart of his unsettled state: there was a hidden part of Maria he had not possessed, after all. Until last night, Georg had believed that, having redeemed her from Nonnberg, her miserable past and an unsuitable future, he alone had owned her. Could he manage to make her his once again, to claim her from her past, secrets and all?

The high, sweet cry of a lark broke into his thoughts. Here, deep in the woods, there had been no single moment when the sun burst over the horizon, but in the time he'd spent pacing the veranda, the clearing had grown bright, until it was bathed in pure morning light. The time for contemplation was over, and the time for action was here.

Maria was standing in the kitchen, with her back to him, tending something on the stove. Despite the gravity of the situation, his eyes couldn't help but search beneath the billowing nightgown for the line of her legs and the curve of her waist. "What are you doing there?" he asked.

When she turned toward him, he could see that she was impossibly pale, but there was no disguising the sorrow, longing and regret he read on her face.

"I thought that before we went back to Vienna, you might want something to eat," she said.

"There is no reason to rush back to Vienna. Come away from there," he said, more roughly than he intended, so he added, quickly, "We are going to be married. Nothing has changed about that."

Her eyes shone, although she only said, quietly, "Of course. I should never have doubted it. You are an honorable man, after all."

"I'm not doing it because I'm honorable," he said, "I'm doing it because I'm in love with you. It's not that you have my heart, you _are_ my heart. After everything that's happened, I wouldn't know how to send you away, and I don't want to. But, Maria, you must-"

Her face was suddenly bright with joy, and before he could finish his sentence, she had launched herself at him, winding her arms around his neck. "Oh, Georg, darling," she cried, "I love you so much, I-"

"Hold on. I am not finished yet," he said doggedly, disentangling himself from her and setting her away from him. "You're going to have to tell me about it, Maria. What happened to you."

"Oh, no." Whatever color had risen in her cheeks washed right back out again, and her eyes went wide and panicky. "Please don't make me do that. I don't want to!"

"I know you don't," he said, "but you've got to. I need to know everything."

"Can't we just put it behind us?" she pleaded.

"It can't be behind us," he said evenly, "if is between us. No more secrets. I'm not giving you any choice in the matter."

"And if I refuse to tell? Will you tell your children you have sent me back to the Abbey?" Her voice rose until she was very nearly shouting. "That you will go looking for yet another mother for them?"

"This is how I am, Maria!" He kept his voice low, but its tone was like steel; his eyes blazed and there was an unyielding set to his jaw. 'I love you enough to accept you unconditionally. Can you say the same?"

"All right! _Peter!"_ She _was_ shouting now, shouting with anger, because his words had hit their mark, though she didn't want to admit it. "His name was Peter! Are you happy?"

Maria turned to shut off the stove and then stalked past him into the main room. The air was chilly, and the stone floor felt rough and cold under her feet, but she found a patch of sunlight next to the front window to stand in. She waited until Georg seated himself in the big chair near the fireplace, leaning forward expectantly, elbows planted on his knees, and then she began.

"His name was Peter," she repeated. Despite her initial reluctance, the words spilled easily off her tongue, as though she'd had them dammed in her heart. "Peter Strauss. He was a university student from Berlin, and came to spend the summer with his aunt and uncle in our village." Peter's image rose up before her for a moment, his awkward, gangly frame, his big velvet-brown eyes and the mop of golden curls. "Peter was one of those gentle souls. He was prettier than I was, I think," she smiled. "Like an angel. But fragile, too. I suppose that explains why I mistook-" She gave a rueful sigh. "I was only sixteen. Going on seventeen, that summer. Liesl's age."

She paused to flick a glance his way, just long enough to make sure he'd gotten that particular point, and then she wrapped her arms around her waist, curled her toes against the comforting sun-warmed patch of floor, and went on.

"It started on Sundays, after church. He would walk me home, and then after a while we began to stop for a picnic along the way. We would read poetry to each other, or sing bits of music, and talk about our families, and our dreams for the future, and after a while, it seemed as though those dreams were something we shared. You must understand," she said earnestly, "it had been ten years since my mother died. My aunt and uncle kept a roof over my head, but in all that time, no one had ever told me they loved me. Not a word of praise, not a single embrace."

She heard Georg mutter something under his breath.

"Oh, it wasn't anything like that, Georg. He held my hand, and kissed my cheek once or twice, but that was all. But he was the first person in ten years to demonstrate any affection at all toward me." She thought of the girls, Brigitta and Marta and especially Gretl, how starved they had been for affection; and how lucky they were that their father had been restored to them. "He would talk about how we would be together someday, in our own little house on the mountain, with books and music and a little boy for him and a g-"

How was she going to get through the rest of it? She glanced over at Georg. He hadn't taken his eyes off her the whole time she was talking, but he didn't wear the stern skeptical air of the Captain she'd first known. He looked curious and compassionate and a little fearful, even. She would have to get through it, for him. For them.

"Well," she said at last. "The summer came to an end, and then it was Peter's last night before returning to Berlin. He begged me to sneak away and meet him, and of course, I would have done anything for him." She gave a broken little laugh. "I guess I did, in fact, do anything for him, didn't I? I met him in back of the Miller's barn, and we were both so emotional, you know, about being separated. He told me he loved me, and that the next summer, when he would be twenty one and I would be nearly eighteen, he'd come back for me."

"And then," she continued, as matter-of-factly as she could, "he asked me to lie with him. So that we would have something to remember each other by, he said. I didn't hesitate, not for a moment," Maria said, gesturing emphatically. It was a relief to unburden herself at last, and now that she had, she wanted Georg to know the truth of it, all of it. "I followed him into that barn, do you understand?"

"Go on," was all Georg said.

Maria hugged herself even more tightly and took several long, steadying breaths. "Afterward, he kept apologizing, which made me feel terrible, like I'd done something wrong, although it was his idea in the first place. And he was frantic about the possibility that there would be a baby. I didn't even," she swallowed, "I was so innocent, I barely understood what he meant! He instructed me to tell no one what had happened, and what to watch for, and that if – if there was a _problem_ , to write him. He gave me his address, and that was that. He didn't even kiss me goodbye, I don't think. I went home, and I wrote him every day, and waited for his letters."

Almost done.

"You can guess the rest. There was no baby, but there were no letters, either. Nothing. Weeks went by. I was _worried_ about him, can you believe it? I thought perhaps he was sick, with no one at university to care for him. I saw his aunt and uncle all the time, of course, but I was too shy to ask after him. It wasn't until Christmas, while I was rehearsing the children's' choir with his aunt, that I got up the courage to ask her, and she told me he was engaged to be married. The two families, his and the girl's, they'd been close for years, and there had always been an understanding between them. From the time they shared a cradle, she said."

She had made it almost all the way through her story, but now she felt the tears begin to slide down her face.

"The worst thing about it, really, is not knowing."

"Knowing?" Georg asked gently.

"I'll never know. If – if he meant it when he said he loved me, but he just wasn't strong enough to go against his family. Or whether I'd misread him completely, that it was just a cruel trick by a despicable man. I'll never know."

Maria had told him her story calmly, and had even managed a wry smile or two, but now she knuckled the tears from her eyes. It was as though he was once again standing at the top of the terrace steps, he couldn't stand to see her so miserable, and before he knew what he was doing, he had crossed the room and folded her into his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Georg." She burrowed herself into his shoulder. "Can you ever forgive me?"

He rubbed his face against the golden silk of her hair. "You were very brave, and honorable, too, to have told me. There is nothing to forgive, and even if there were, it is no more than you've forgiven me," he said, and he knew that he meant it. So she had been taken advantage of by a poncey, fairy prince sort, he thought. That was all. Her heart was bruised, but her eager responsiveness last night already told him that there was no permanent damage. She was going to need some time to recover from having relived the experience. Yes. She needed time, and a firm, reassuring hand, and her confidence restored, and he intended to give her those things and more.

He drew her back toward the big armchair and into his lap.

"Maria?" He brushed a tender finger across her cheek and smoothed her hair behind her ear. "Is that why you went to the Abbey? Were you afraid of – that is, did you not want to – ehrm – marry after that?"

"I don't know," she bit her lip. "I suppose – yes. I knew I'd be safe there. And I _did_ want to serve God. I still do, you know. Oh, I was so terribly confused! Like most girls, I had dreamed of having babies of my own. But after that happened, I _was_ also scared of certain things. It had been quite - difficult. I hadn't known what to expect. It was so dark, and it all happened very fast." She fell silent for a moment, remembering. "There was a lot of blood," she added in a whisper.

His arms tightened around her. Not that he hadn't tried, last night, to be gentle with her, but in the end, he'd lost control, and he liked to think that if he'd only known the truth, he'd have-

"I'm glad you changed your mind, for my sake," he said, trying to keep his voice light.

"I loved the children first, Georg," she reminded him.

"Yes, I believe you've mentioned that," he said dryly.

"When I first started to notice you _that_ way, I thought it was just the Lord's little test of my resolve before going back to Nonnberg. I thought it was like Brigitta's crush on Herr Groner."

"The violin teacher?"

"Yes. Young girls often do that, develop a crush on someone safe and unattainable. After that first big argument, you still scolded me occasionally, but you were more often kind to me. You were a wealthy aristocrat, and famous, and practically engaged-"

"And older," he reminded her.

"Well, yes," Maria shrugged. "But then _you_ started to notice _me_. I would catch you looking at me, and I knew that you wanted me. Even though there was still a part of me that wanted to run away, to somewhere safe, I don't know why, but I wanted you even more. There were times when we would look at each other and I could hardly breathe! I wanted you to do things-"

He saw something stir in her eyes, hunger and desperation and fear.

"Maria, darling, I'm sorry about last night. If I had known, I would have – I hope it didn't frighten you."

"Frighten me? No. I mean, I _was_ worried about what you would say when you – ehrm – found out, so there _was_ a part of me that wanted to get it over with, but the truth is," her cheeks flushed pink, "I liked some of it. I definitely liked the part-"

"In the chair?"

She ducked her head. "I told you last night. I never felt anything like that before. I didn't know that women could-" Her forehead wrinkled.

"Climax," he prompted, feeling like a very lecherous sort of tutor.

"Yes. Is that what you call it?"

"That never happened before?"

She bolted upright in his lap. "I told you, it wasn't like that at all!"

"Hush. I meant with yourself."

"With myself?" She sounded more curious than shocked. "No."

"Well. Now you know," Georg said smugly. "But – and I want a truthful answer, Maria - you didn't like what happened next, did you? In bed."

"It was just fine, really. I thought you were very considerate." She wriggled around on his lap for a moment, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "And I liked the way you were at the end. That was _thrilling_." Looking up at him through dark lashes, she added cautiously, "Was I – was it what you expected?"

"No," he felt a grin crease his face. "Better."

"Better?"

"I haven't felt that way since – well, maybe I've never felt that way." He felt a stab of disloyalty, acknowledging that, but it didn't take anything away from a long and satisfying marriage, seven children in eleven years, to acknowledge the powerful, nearly redemptive, forces that had swept him away since that night in the gazebo. Not only lust, not even only love. Something he didn't know the word for. "Not in years, anyway."

"You haven't? I mean, not since-"

He ran a hand over his face. "I tried, but my heart wasn't in it." Or the rest of him, he thought, but he wasn't sure she'd understand that, though part of him yearned to confess it to her. "At first I thought it was grief. Or middle age. That first night, after we left the gazebo? I was not expecting things between us to be so _intense._ Trust me, Maria darling. Please. You've got to trust me. It will get better with time and practice, and then it will be _glorious._ It won't always be like last night. I was distracted at first, I couldn't understand what was happening, and then -"

"It _was_ a little overwhelming at the beginning," Maria admitted. "I was nervous, of course, and then there was just – ehrm – more of you than I expected."

Every nerve ending in his body flared to attention. Struggling to maintain his composure, he clutched her close to his chest, and dragged his fingers through her soft hair.

Maria was in a nearly feverish state by now, giddy with relief and the realization that talking about sex, while not the same as doing it, exactly, could be quite stimulating in its own way. It was exhilarating, to be free of the burden she'd carried for so long, and now she yearned for the anchor of his weight of him on her instead, the safety of his possession. She wanted, she _craved_ the indescribable pleasure she'd experienced last night, yes, but she was also anxious for another glimpse of the man whose face had gone fierce and vulnerable just before he came apart. That man, transformed by passion, was hers alone. The rest of the world could have the jacket and tie, the medals. The image of him naked appeared in her mind's eye.

Every part of her was flushed and tingling. Georg was holding her so tightly that it was impossible to ignore the stiff, insistent pressure of his lower body against hers. When she leaned back to look at him, his eyes burned dangerously in his darkly stubbled face.

"Look," he said, stroking his thumb across her lips before resting on her cheek, which wore the lingering impression left by his pajama button, "I've left my mark on you. My brand." _Imprinted,_ his mind whispered to him. "What are you looking at, Fraulein?"

She dragged her eyes unwillingly to his face. "You're," she swallowed, "you're got it buttoned wrong."

His gaze remained fixed on her face while he loosened the errant buttons, but he left his shirt open, purely for the pleasure of her hungry gaze.

"Georg. What you said, about practicing. I mean, I understand if you feel that we still need to discuss things, but," she hesitated, "I was thinking, and I was wondering-"

"Yes?"

"We don't have to go back to Vienna for two more days. Do you think that tonight – ehrm – that is, do you think we could practice?" she said hopefully. "The way you said."

The smoldering look Maria gave him could have set the woods around them ablaze.

"No," he said slowly. "I mean, yes. But not tonight. _Now."_

"But it's the morning! We haven't even had breakfast!"

He was going to – imprint, engrave, etch, inscribe, seal he was going to _burn_ himself into her, until no doubt remained between them. Or anything else. In one smooth motion, he rose to his feet, yanked her over his shoulder, and strode across the room. "I don't need breakfast. You don't need breakfast. You need me, and I need you."

"Where are you taking me?" she squeaked.

Georg laughed wickedly.

"Where am I taking you? I'll tell you where I'm taking you, my dear little Fraulein. Somewhere you cannot even _begin_ to imagine."

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Once again, my apologies for my shameful failure to thank you each of you individually for the lovely reviews, likes and follows. I'll try to do better before the next chapter.**

 **I borrowed Aurora from another story of mine, although the results of her encounter with Georg were somewhat different in that story!**

 **Kudos to those who guessed my other fandom – there's another hint in here, did you see it?**

 **Don't own TSOM or the characters, though I wish I did.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Dangled helplessly over his shoulder, Maria could do nothing but watch the upside-down room slide by, as he strode into the bedroom and tossed her on the bed with a little bounce. The sun had not yet reached into the cozy little room, which held only a faint golden glow and left the air damp and cool.

He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed a handful of her nightgown. "The first order of business is to get rid of this – this _abomination,_ " he directed with a distasteful scowl. But her fingers had barely found the first button when he pushed her hands away, and with one mighty tug, he tore the worn flannel open all the way down to the hem.

"Georg!"

"I _despise_ this thing," he said, turning her this way and that with great efficiency, until he was able to pull the torn garment away from her and throw it on the floor. "You are not a cowering governess anymore, and I don't want you dressing like one. You have a beautiful body, and there's no need to hide it, not from me. What you're wearing now is all you need."

"But I'm not wearing anything!"

"Exactly!" he smirked. "Now don't go anywhere," and he stood and turned away from her to undress, leaving only the tickle of cool air against her bare skin and a little thrill of anticipation.

Georg felt a last flicker of misgiving. Had he done the right thing, forcing her to relive the loss of her innocence? She had yielded to his demand for the truth, and now he owed her something in return: reassurance, and confidence, and knowledge of the boundless pleasure her body could give her. That _he_ could give her. He would imprint himself onto Maria, sealing her to him, until no trace remained of the poncey fairy-prince – whatever his name was.

He took his time with her, lavishing attention on every inch of her skin – the soles of her feet, the small of her back, the inside of her elbow, the tip of her nose. The gentlest of caresses with a fingertip, the lightest of kisses with his mouth, the barest touch of his tongue, until he had her squirming, until her soft sighs told him she was relaxed and eager for more. Only then did he ease her onto her back, push her knees apart with his shoulders, and begin to kiss his way up the inside of one silken-skinned leg. But then she surprised him.

"No, Georg, please-"

He lifted up on his elbows so he could see her face, beautifully flushed with desire. "But darling, you loved it when I kissed you here. This beautiful place." He grazed his fingers between her legs and was rewarded with a soft little gasp.

" _Oh!_ Yes! But I want us to try _it_ again."

"It?" he prompted.

A moment of hesitation. "M-making love."

"I thought that's what I was doing," he smiled.

"You know what I mean. Please."

It was only a matter of hours since they had last been together in this bed, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. This was a second chance to start again, and he wanted it to be –

"Let's take our time, love, don't you think?"

"No, I don't," she insisted, tugging him upward by his hair.

Maria, making demands of him: that was all it took to make him harder than stone. He crawled back up her body, lingering for a few minutes to kiss her sweet breasts, shaping them with his hands, sucking one pink nipple into his mouth while his fingers gently squeezed the other, relishing her low whimper and the way she thrashed about beneath him.

She was extraordinarily responsive, he thought. His blood ran thick with desire, until it was a struggle to restrain his natural impulses, which screamed at him to take her without delay. But he knew, better than most men might, that the best remedy for Maria's lingering fears was to give her control, and he intended to try and do that.

"Let me see if I can make this easier for you," he murmured, stretching out next to her on his back, and reaching to pull her toward him. "Come over here." She collapsed awkwardly on top of him, and he had to stop her nervous giggles with a forceful kiss, but then she quickly got the idea of it, fitting herself to him at knee and belly until he could feel her straining against him, open and hot and wet.

He gave her a moment to try and arrange things herself, but when she gave a little cry of frustration, he slid his hands down until he could grip her bottom, lifted her into position, and pulled her down onto him, as carefully as he could manage. He watched as her eyes closed and her face tightened briefly before going slack with pleasure, until her soft moan told him what he needed to know: the lingering memories of her past had given way to passion. She was his, and she felt like heaven.

Maria tensed briefly against the invasion, but quickly relaxed into the exquisite sensation: no pain, no fear, only a pillar of heat that filled her and sent fire racing through her veins.

"All right? Maria?" came his hoarse whisper. "Open your eyes for me." Her eyes flew open to see his face, dark with passion, his midnight eyes fixed on hers. When she managed to nod her assent, his voice grew stronger and more demanding. "All right, then, darling. Hold on."

 _Hold on?_

She did as she was told, though, because Georg was already moving, clasping her to his chest and smoothly levering himself to a sitting position, leaving her legs draped on either side of his. He was rooted even more deeply within her now, and the feeling was -

"Steady. Breathe with me, love. Together." he whispered.

He began to rock against her sensitive flesh. Every inch of her skin clamored for his touch, and it seemed she could not get close enough to him to satisfy the frantic craving that blossomed between her legs and spread everywhere. She wrapped herself around him, arms and legs, a lush vine to his tree, and fed greedily on his kisses, stopping only to press her lips to the column of his throat, to feel the pulse thunder there.

Still, he kept up the slow, deliberate rhythm, and Maria could feel herself opening up to him, while his hands found her breasts and played there with gentle pinches, before skimming over her belly, stopping just short of the place where she ached for his touch.

"Look down. Look at us," he demanded.

She felt her cheeks turn hot with shameful excitement when she saw the place they were joined. The amazing sight made her feel wicked and wildly aroused.

"Georg," she panted. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please-"

"Let me guess. Do you want me to touch you? Like this?" his fingers brushed against her, a whisper-soft touch that wasn't enough, "or like this?" A thumb pressed firmly in just the right place-

"Yes," she sobbed.

"What else do you want?" he asked in a silky voice. "You need to learn to ask."

"I want you to – to tell me."

"Ah. I thought so. You like to hear me talk about it, don't you, love? Do you want me to tell you how feel around me, so tight, so perfect? Or about how your body was made for me? For _me._ For _this_. You're mine now, do you know that?"

"Yes. _Yours._ "

Georg rested his forehead against hers, hauling in a deep breath, but he didn't stop moving against and within her, until her whole body thrummed with bliss.

"I need you. All of you. And _you_ need me, don't you, Maria? You love this, don't you? You _need_ it. Because-"

"Tell me-" she gasped.

Each rasping word was delivered with another frenzied thrust.

" _I - fill - you - up!"_

His words were a sharp, savage stab of pleasure that tore into her, rolling through her in wave after perfect, nearly unbearable wave, over and over again, until she screamed out a wordless plea. Begging for it to end. Wishing for it to go on forever.

It was his moment of triumph, when she came apart in his arms, convulsing around him repeatedly. But her high, keening cries had hardly faded away before he had her on her back. Every thought of taking care with her had vanished. Even though he knew he should give her time to recover, that he should coax her down from her peak with tender care, he could no more hold back than he could will his heart to stop beating.

"Maria!" He nearly grunted her name with the effort of keeping still.

"Hmm?" Her face was relaxed and dreamy.

"Maria, I - I don't think I can be gentle with you. If you want me to stop, I will, but if I keep going-"

"Oh, Georg, it was _brilliant!_ " She hadn't yet caught her breath, and her voice was ragged and uneven. "But if _that_ didn't break me, there's no need to go easy now." She wiggled experimentally beneath him.

He wanted to laugh, but it was difficult enough to speak at all. "You don't understand," he said with great difficulty. "That _was_ gentle. If I keep going, it's going to be," he swallowed. "Rougher. There is something about you. About us, together. That drives me wild, and I need-"

Her blue eyes went wide, but she didn't hesitate.

"Then show me."

"Are you sure?"

"Show me. If it's what you need," her voice faltered, "then I want to give it to you. I want to know."

Georg closed his eyes against the nearly irresistible wave of lust that washed over him. "Put your legs up here. Around my waist," he choked out, and then he began to move.

He had never known anything like it. He was a force of nature now, a wild, untamed animal, a pagan, rutting god. It was like a dream, but this dream could go on and on for hours, a dream he wouldn't have to waken from. She inspired something fierce in him, something darker than his worst fears and brighter than any joy he'd ever known.

Maria strained upward, pushing against the hard, heavy slide of his body, feeling him sink deeper into her with every stroke, deeper than she could ever have imagined. She ran her hands over his back, all the hills and valleys and small dimples, his skin hot and slick with sweat. When her eyes sought his, there he was again, _her_ Georg, the one she'd glimpsed last night: his beseeching gaze, his handsome face taut and vulnerable with need, his mouth contorted in the battle between finding and fighting off release.

He surged into her, again and again, taking them onward and upward, together. His rigid length within her seemed to pulse and thicken even more, but she understood now that he would never be too much for her, that her body would soften and open to him, until she found herself craving the next long, elegant sweep and glide of his body against her sensitive skin.

"More," she begged, though she wasn't sure exactly what she wanted more _of_ , besides relief for the fire that sparked across her skin and raced through her blood.

"You want more?" His voice was a raw scrape. "Then brace yourself."

 _Brace yourself?_

She started to say something, but his tongue had invaded her mouth in a relentless kiss. With one hand, he grabbed her wrists and clasped them firmly over her head, while the other arm slid beneath her bottom and held her there hard, tipped up against him. Once he had her secured, he thrust at her mercilessly, again and again, until the deliberate rhythm and any vestige of control were lost, as he threw back his head and began to shudder violently against her.

Georg had nearly nothing left to give her, but he managed to hold back the explosion until he could push her over the edge one more time. Until he heard her cry out his name. Until the climax slammed into him, in a rush so long and intense it forced the air from his lungs in a scream.

Until he was lost to her, and knew her lost to him as well.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

She traced his noble profile with her finger, the smooth brow, the relaxed mouth and drooping eyes, and she thought that in all the weeks and months she had known him, while she had seen him stern and angry, amused and happy, thoughtful and tender and passionate, she had never seen him so deeply content. At peace.

By now, every corner of the little room was saturated with lemon-yellow sun. The walls held a crisp autumn breeze that cooled their skins, and the sounds of sweet birdsong and the little creek rushing by outside. But what filled the room to overflowing was love, love enough to drive out any thought at all of the outside world: of seven children, of chaperones, of weddings, of ugly German threats. Everything they needed, everything they treasured, was in that room.

An hour later, when the sun was at its peak in the sky, he would make love to her again, but this time with an elegant grace and restrained heat that reminded her of their first dance in the garden. They would stay in that bed all day long, in fact, a day of joy and tenderness, of wildness and sweat and pleasure, a day of whispers and screams, of soft touches and quick couplings and long encounters, a day when he gave her whatever she wanted before she even knew what that was.

Sometime around dusk, hunger drove her to the kitchen to stock a tray, but he when he found her there, with her round bottom peeking temptingly from beneath his pajama shirt, he lifted her onto the table and teased her until she was frantic for him, and it was another hour, at least, until they managed a meal. They were amazed to find that night had come, swallowing them in darkness, the cold night air driving them into each other's arms once again.

 _When was the last time you felt complete,_

 _so complete, nothing dared approach you?_

 _Nothing like a yesterday, or a tomorrow._

 _Nothing that could speak._

 _Nothing that could ever point to something_

 _that would ever need to be done._

 _Nothing that could not do anything,_

 _but adore you. Adore you. Adore you._

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 _ **Nothing Like a Yesterday**_ **, from the Persian poet Hafiz.**

 **Don't own TSOM or anything about it, it's all for love.**

 **Thank you for reading my story. If you want to see more, then please leave me a review, because as Georg would say, how am I supposed to know what you like unless you tell me?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Note that this is Chapter 5! Apparently, when Chapter 4 went out, there was no notice from our friends at ff dot net, so some people may have missed it. This story isn't exactly heavy on plot *grins* so it's OK if you skip Chapter 4, but you may want to go back and check.**

 **Chapter 5**

Maria was startled awake by the unfamiliar weight of a presence next to her. It was still a new experience for her, sleeping next to another person, surrounded by his scent, so close that the heat rising from his skin warmed her own, so close that she could feel the deep rumble of his breath in her own chest.

It was quite warm in the room, so warm that, in their sleep, they'd kicked the quilts to the floor. When she got up to open the window to the cool night air, she could see, up above the trees, the disk of a full moon glowing against an ink-black sky.

Turning back toward the bed, her breath caught at the magnificent sight of her Captain, lying sprawled on his back, perfectly still. Even in his sleep, he looked alert, on edge, fists lightly clenched, as though he were ready to spring to action at a moment's notice. In the silver spill of moonlight, his skin was like marble, every ridge of bone and swell of muscle defined by light and darkness, but he was more beautiful than any artist's sculpture could ever be. Even the imperfection of the mysterious scar that crossed his abdomen somehow enhanced his appeal. When impeccably clothed in his typical formal attire, Georg appeared lean and elegant, but unclothed, there was a fearsome power to his appearance, from his severe profile, shadowed by a few days' beard, to his dark, furred skin.

She let her eyes drift to his midsection, smiling a little to remember how frightening his nude body had seemed - had it really been only last night? Her cheeks warmed and she felt a rush of longing for the indescribable pleasure that body had given her in the last day. And anyway, at the moment, he appeared harmless enough, vulnerable and almost sweet, in a way. Curious for a better look, she drew closer. It was fascinating, really, the way everything was arranged.

He must be dreaming, Georg thought. But the warm breath gusting gently against his skin – first his belly, then lower - was too real for any dream. He felt the first prickles and tingles of arousal, but before he gave way to the sensation, he had the intriguing thought: if Maria believed him to be deeply asleep, what would she do next? So he clenched his teeth and forced himself to breathe deeply and regularly.

A gently inquisitive fingertip, a cupped palm, the scrape of a nail. She wasn't so much caressing him, Georg realized, as she was _examining_ him, with a thorough care that was maddeningly unhurried and precise. He parted his legs another inch, to make things easier for her. She stilled for a moment, but he held his breath until, apparently, his silence reassured her, and she resumed her exploration: lifting, prodding, even gently tugging now and again, and generally handling him as though he were some sort of prize vegetable on display. Even a very inexperienced young woman could not possibly believe he was still asleep. By now, she surely must have noticed him twitching to life, his arousal growing under her fingers. _He_ couldn't think of much else.

Suddenly, and without any preliminaries, she ran her tongue down his full length, a long, generous swipe.

He couldn't control the rough sound that erupted from deep within, though he did manage to suppress the words that screamed in his mind: _Your mouth. Take me in your mouth._

"You're awake," she accused.

"I thought I was dreaming," he said, lifting up on his elbows and forcing himself to smile.

"You have dreams like that? About me?"

He managed to nod, and with his last reserves of tender regard, he murmured, "You don't have to do that, you know."

"You did it to me!"

"Y-yes, but that's different."

"Why?" She narrowed her eyes at him.. "Or am I doing it wrong?"

"God, no!' he ran his hands through his hair. "You don't understand, darling, with men, things can get quite brutal."

"What I _understand_ is that it's all right for you to _dream_ about it, but not –

Why was he arguing with her? He'd allow it to continue, a minute or two longer, and then he'd take control of the situation. He let himself collapse on his back again.

"You are nothing if not persistent, Fraulein," Georg sighed. "Have at me."

But she didn't move, even after he ghosted his hand over her hair, offering permission - well, at this point, he wanted to offer encouragement, really.

"Maria?"

He forced himself back up on his elbows to find his bride wearing an impish grin.

"No. Now you're going to have to _ask_ me, Georg."

He didn't suffer from the shyness that plagued her, though. If Maria liked blunt talk, she'd get it. "Very well. I want your mouth on me. Kiss me again. Kiss _it._ Just like you were a minute ago. Just please watch your teeth," he added politely.

And she did, licking and nibbling at him for quite some time, while he thrashed happily about on the bed. But then-

"Georg?"

"What now?" he gasped.

"Is this right?"

"Yes, darling. Just-"

"Was it like this in your dream?"

He was silent for a moment, hoping that she would tire of waiting for an answer, but no more kisses were forthcoming. Sighing, he boosted himself back up on his elbows.

"Yes. This is _exactly_ the way I dreamed it would be. Now if you would only-"

"You're lying."

Up until this moment, everything about his upbringing and his life's work had made Georg a very good liar. Maybe it was the fact that he was aroused past endurance, or Maria's unique ability to inflame his senses, but he couldn't manage a convincing lie. In truth, his dreams _had_ gone in a somewhat more adventurous direction, and she knew it. Her cheeks had gone rosy, and her eyes were sultry and wild.

"You told me not to be ashamed, Georg, but _you_ are feeling just a little bit ashamed, aren't you?"

"Little witch. That is not what I meant, and you know it," he choked.

Why did Maria torture him this way, piling up the kindling, handing him the match, and begging him to use it? Didn't she know the danger she put herself in, demanding to know his dark side, when all he wanted was to bask in the warm light of her love?

There was a long, unsettled silence.

"All right," he said last, but something had shifted. His eyes had gone dark, his voice was soft and slightly terrifying, and Maria felt a flicker of misgiving. It was one thing to tease and dare, but she might have stumbled into territory better left unexplored.

"On your knees," he said coolly.

"What?"

"Off the bed. On your knees. Right there," he gestured. She was too stunned by the sudden shift in his behavior to do anything but obey him.

"Just a word of advice, Maria, love. Next time, don't ask questions unless you're sure you want to know the answers. All right?"

The stone floor was cold and rough under her knees, and she sank back until she was sitting on her haunches.

"Not like that. Up on your knees. Like in church," he said with a humorless chuckle.

Maria was confused by his request, until he drew closer, standing tall over her. One hand clutched the hair at the back of her neck, and the long fingers of his other hand gently stroked at her throat. And then it all made shocking sense.

After that, he told her what to do, and she did it.

She went at it with the same ardent enthusiasm she brought to everything she did. Her inexperience was shamefully arousing, but at the same time, it was only the very fact of her lack of skill, the inexpert muddle of her lips and tongue, and the occasional light scrape of her teeth, that allowed him enough control to restrain himself.

At least for the first little while.

But before he knew what had happened, the wet silk of her mouth around him pulled him precariously close to the edge. He was once again an untried youth, overwhelmed by ferocious lust, his blood surging to a boil, pounding through his veins, roaring in his ears. It was an effort just to drag air into his lungs, and his attempt to warn her away resulted only in a strangled groan.

His eyes squeezed shut against the delicious, aching heat that began to build deep within. With his last bit of control, he pushed one hand against her shoulder and used the other to ease himself from her mouth. Staggering back onto the bed, he reached for her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers to show her how to stroke him, but it was too late for that. With a raw, wrenching cry, he spilled himself into her soft hand.

Georg was truly mortified at his rapid decline: he had fancied himself a sort of masterful erotic tutor, but in the end, he'd done no better than a schoolboy. The situation was so embarrassing that he was relieved to let himself slide into sleep.

It was just after dawn when he woke to find Maria standing over him, wearing his pajama shirt and a bright smile, and holding out a cup of tea.

"I brought you some breakfast," she said, handing him the tea and producing a plate of fruit, sliced bread and jam, which she set on the bed between them.

"I'm – ehrm – sorry." he fumbled. For one sickening moment, he was back in Milan again.

Maria looked genuinely confused. "Sorry for what?"

"You didn't – that is, I did, but you didn't," he began, but she only shrugged, and he realized that in her limited experience, there was nothing disappointing or untoward about their nighttime encounter.

" _You_ were the one who told _me_ not to apologize," she reminded him, reaching for a slice of bread. "And anyway, I like watching you come apart like that. It was very – ehrm – _interesting_."

Despite his humiliation, he had to laugh out loud at her choice of words, and she joined him, though her cheeks turned pink.

"What I mean to say, Georg, is that the other times – I mean, yesterday, I was so distracted, that I wasn't able to pay attention to what happens to _you_. Last night – it made me feel – oh, this isn't the right word either – _important_."

He laughed again. "I think I know what you mean. I just hope I didn't frighten you. There's something about you that brings out the beast in me, I'm afraid."

"Oh, no," she said earnestly, "it's _thrilling._ I had no idea of the things - it's all very naughty, isn't it?" she added with great relish. "You always start out in control of everything, the way you _always_ are, of course, and then – I like it, having that effect on you. It makes you seem less intimidating." She stopped to lick a bit of jam off her thumb.

"I'm still intimidating?" He felt unaccountably hurt.

Maria bit her lip. "It's just that – we're intimate, of course. Which is astonishing. Brilliant! But somehow, I still don't know _you_ very well. I want so much to be close to you, and there's so much I don't know about you, really."

She didn't know him well? Considering where she'd had her mouth and fingers not so very long ago, she knew him better than anyone ever had, or ever would.

"Like what?" he said cautiously.

She fixed her blue eyes on him, hesitated for a moment and said, "Your wife, for example. I'm going to be your second wife, and I know almost nothing about what happened to the first one. And the war. I don't know what happened to you." She motioned toward the scar that crossed his abdomen.

"It was a very, very long time ago," Georg said quietly. He looked away. "There's no need to disturb the past."

"And yet you forced me to disturb mine," she shot back. "You made me tell my secrets, and I want yours in return." But she seemed more spirited than angry, flinging her arms about so wildly that a generous spoonful of jam slid from her bread and disappeared inside the pajama shirt she wore.

Georg felt something stir within. With her wildly-tousled golden hair, that lush mouth, and those eyes, Maria was utterly tempting. And she was brave, too, in bed and outside of it. He could be brave for her, couldn't he?

"All right," he said after a moment. "I'll tell you anything you want to know, I promise. But just – not right now."

"Why not?"

"Because you're making a mess of my pajamas," he grinned, flicking open the top button– it _was_ his garment, after all – and sliding his hand inside.

"Georg," she scolded, "You're not taking this seriously."

"Oh," he breathed, "but I _am_ taking this seriously. _Very_ seriously. Look what you've done to yourself, Fraulein. Someone's got to clean you up."

Maria hesitated. There had been a breakthrough, just now, and they had been on the brink of a different kind of intimacy, one she yearned for. Was he simply trying to distract her? And yet there was no denying the flutter of desire in her belly. The gentle squeeze of his hand cupping her breast, and the firmer rub of his thumb, were too delicious to ignore. She wriggled impatiently as he undid the rest of the buttons and drew close to her, until she could feel his warm breath. His tongue traced a burning line down from her throat and between her breasts, lingering until he had licked away the jam and then some.

He pulled away from her, and, as though he could read her mind, he said, "Anything you want to know. I promise. There's plenty of time for _talking_ later."

"That's all right then," Maria agreed, and without a pause, she reached for the jam pot and ladled a generous spoonful into the hollow at the base of his throat.

"My turn," she exclaimed gleefully, and then went to work with her tongue, following the rivers of jam that snaked down his chest and relishing his groans of approval.

When it was his turn, Georg eased her onto her back and tasted jam from her navel and the cup of her hip-bone, but then there was the disappointing clatter of the spoon against an empty jam-pot.

"It's nearly all gone," he said regretfully. "Not enough for what I had in mind." He scraped the last bit out with his fingers, rubbed it thoroughly into her nipple, and then vigorously sucked it clean.

"Honey," she panted.

"Yes, darling?"

"No, _honey._ There's a dish of it in the kitchen." Maria felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment that she'd made such a bold suggestion, but he only shot her a devilish grin as he rolled from the bed and strode purposefully toward the door.

"Don't go anywhere," he ordered. As though she might!

She heard Georg rummaging about in the kitchen. When he returned, he was cradling a little blue dish in his broad palm. He crouched between her knees, eyeing her speculatively. "It's going to be messy," he warned her, but there was no hiding the avaricious glitter in his deep blue eyes when he pushed her legs apart.

"It's all right. I know the innkeeper. He's very accommodating," she assured him, arching toward him despite herself and hoping this wasn't one of those times when he was going to make her give voice to her wishes. But he was preoccupied with the honey-dish, dipping his fingers into it and swirling them against her center, again and again; the sticky sensation was odd at first, but he seemed to know just how to touch her to leave her shaking with desire. When she couldn't wait another moment longer for him, she reached for his ears, trying to pull his face between her legs.

"Now who's bossy?" Georg teased.

His face was alive with wicked pleasure, and he was still chuckling when he disappeared from sight, so that she felt the vibrations of his laugh against her tender skin. Then her mind blurred, and the only thing she knew was his clever mouth sliding against her: the rasp of his cheek, the velvet lips and tongue. She was hot with desire, sticky with honey and lust that stirred first in her belly and then bubbled and sizzled through her veins. He nibbled and tasted and lapped at her, never lingering long enough to satisfy, teasing her with a restrained elegance that was nothing short of maddening.

" _More,"_ Maria heard herself cry, " _Please! I can't bear it!"_ and she nearly fainted with relief when he grabbed her hips, pulled her firmly against his mouth, and sucked hard, once, sending her into long, rapturous shudders of release.

"Georg," she muttered, sometime later. "I want-"

"Anything, darling," he said encouragingly. "Just tell me."

"All that honey," she grimaced. "I want a _bath_."

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Tendrils of steam curled above the warm water. The water was just barely short of too hot, but it was a comfort against the chill of the little bathroom. She leaned back, spooning herself against Georg's broad chest, sheltered within his arms and legs. There was no sound besides their breaths echoing against the tile walls, and the soothing lap of water against their skin.

Suddenly, Georg broke the silence, the words pouring out of him so rapidly she could hardly follow him.

"There isn't that much to tell, honestly. It was scarlet fever, you know. Marta came down with it first, and then Louisa. I wanted to hire a nurse for them and send Agathe and the rest of the children to the country. Gretl was still in the cradle, after all! But Agathe wouldn't hear of it. She nursed the two of them until they were well, and Kurt after that, and then - then she got sick. At first they said she'd recover, but she only got worse. She was in the hospital for weeks, until it was apparent that – that she wouldn't. They sent her home, and it was another six weeks before … well."

He was silent for a moment, and then added, "That's all there is to it."

"Georg, I am so sorry, it must have been-"

"You asked me about the war. I could tell you about it, about how I was standing not ten meters away from my first mate when a torpedo slammed through the hold. His head was blown clean off his neck and splattered against the wall. Like a piece of overripe fruit. I could tell you a _hundred_ stories like that, Maria. But I never faltered, I never let it weaken or distract me. And then the woman I loved went and – she was a damned fool."

"What?" Maria gasped.

"Agathe was _stupid_ ," he bit out the word. "She took an unnecessary risk, and her husband and children paid the price."

Heedless of the water splashing everywhere, Maria spun around on her bottom so she faced him, and blurted, "Do you mean to tell me you were _angry?_ All this time I thought your heart was broken, Georg. That you were out of your mind with grief!"

His throat worked furiously.

"That's not entirely fair, Maria. I was _devastated_. But yes, I was also furious, although it only makes it worse to admit such a thing. During my time at sea, I fought harder than you can imagine to survive, to make it home safely to my family. The suffering I witnessed was – it was unthinkable. There are no words for it. But at least there was an honor to that suffering. Agathe's death was a waste. There was no honor in it, none at all," he said bitterly.

"But Georg, there _was!_ She was a devoted mother," Maria objected quietly, speaking around the lump that was gathering in her throat. "Watching out for children. Putting them first."

Georg peered at her as though he'd nearly forgotten she was there, but then his face softened.

"I didn't mean to suggest - don't worry, darling. You will be a wonderful mother," he said awkwardly, running a finger gently across her cheek. "Why, you are already are! Didn't you love the children before you loved me?"

The lump in her throat made it hard to reply. "The thing of it is, I," she swallowed, "I might not be so maternal after all. Because I haven't thought of them at all, not since we got here. I mean, the stray thought here or there, but not really. Do you think there's something wrong with me? Isn't it right that I should miss them?"

"Well, _I_ don't," he said.

Georg looked off into the distance again, and began to tug absentmindedly at his ear. "Perhaps it was my fault, as much as Agathe's. I saw how happy it made her, one baby after another, and of course in the early years I was away at sea most of the time. It was easier for both of us to drift apart. But I'm not going to let it happen again. I've learned my lesson. Times like this-" he looked at her again and gestured expansively – "you feel it, don't you? How it has made us closer?"

"Y-yes," she said slowly. When she'd agreed to Georg's impulsive suggestion that they remain at the cottage, she'd been so worried about how he'd react to her dreadful secret that she hadn't thought about what else to expect. She'd wanted to marry him despite her fears, fears that were now only a distant memory. "It's been only a day or two, but so much has happened. Not only _that_ way," she blushed, "but telling you about what happened to me, and your telling me -"

She struggled to find the words for it: Maria thought that she was more in love with her Captain than ever, even though after this weekend, he wasn't at all the same man she'd thought she loved, not with the un-self-conscious manner in which he strode stark-naked around the cottage, not the shockingly wild way he made love to her, not the bold way he talked about sex and urged her to do the same. She wanted more of that man, even more than she wanted to see the children.

"I don't even know - what time is it? What _day_ is it?" she asked.

"I'm going to have to think about that one," he smirked. "Let's see. We drove to Vienna on Saturday, so-" he paused.

Their first disastrous encounter had been Saturday night, and they had spent all day Sunday in bed, making up for it. Which meant this was Monday.

"If this is Monday, then we have to go back tomorrow, Georg."

"That's the idea, yes. We're to meet Max at Hede's at noon, so we ought to leave here by ten. We want to intercept him outside the building, before he has a chance to figure things out."

"I know it's an awful thing to say, but a part of me doesn't _want_ to go back," Maria sighed. "I _like_ it being just us. I had no _idea_ about – I mean, now that I know what it's like, being together, it doesn't seem fair to have to go back to the way it was before. Oh, Georg, I don't suppose we could manage to – ehrm- ?"

He raised an eyebrow in mock dismay. "Why, Fraulein Maria, I am _shocked_! Are you inviting me to sneak into the governess' room at night?"

"Actually, I was planning to sneak into _your_ room," she beamed.

He shook his head regretfully. "Don't bet on it. Between Max and the children, we wouldn't have a prayer, sneaking from room to room, even in the middle of the night."

"But your study-".

"Unfortunately, I had the locks taken off the doors. Back when I still imagined I could resist you if I only tried hard enough," he chuckled. "It's only two weeks until the wedding, and Paris, anyway," he reminded her. "Then we'll have six weeks to ourselves. Imagine what we can do with six weeks! I know _I_ can imagine quite a few things. But there's no use torturing ourselves until then. Now," he said firmly, "let's get you cleaned up."

Reluctantly, she clambered to her feet. He knelt before her and washed her tenderly, from fingertips to elbows and shoulders, from toes to knees, from back to front. His long fingers lingered at her breasts and brushed against the place where her legs joined. Maria found it impossible to ignore the warmth that bloomed there, and she inhaled sharply.

"Do you want it again?" he murmured, sliding his hand between her legs and cupping her gently.

Her cheeks went hot with shame.

"I'm sor-" Maria began, and then stopped - no apologies, she reminded herself - and nodded.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, and there was nothing in the world but the gentle flutter of his fingers against her and the velvet sound of his voice, telling her how beautiful she was, and responsive, how her body was soft and lush and wet for him, how he burned for her-

Her legs began to tremble with the effort of staying upright.

"Please," she panted, "please, I can't. I'm going to fall."

"You're not going to fall," Georg told her, "you're going to fly," and then, with nothing more than his gentle touch and the soft murmur of his voice, he nudged her into an exquisite climax. The sweet ripples of pleasure spread and lingered for what felt like forever.

The next thing she knew, she lay sprawled against him, still gasping for air. There was water everywhere, but he wrapped her in a towel and lifted her, as though she weighed no more than a feather, into the shelter of his arms.

It was a gloomy day, one that left the little bedroom barely brightened by daylight, and it had begun to rain, making a soft patter against the leafy trees. Maria was exhausted, but somehow, the knowledge that their magical time in the cottage would end in less than a day, would not let her sleep. She opened her eyes to find him studying her intently.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm wondering what I did to deserve you, after all the mistakes I've made."

"Something good, I guess," she shrugged with a smile. "I know one thing."

"What's that?"

"You're a _very_ good lover, Captain."

"How would you know?" he smiled, apparently having forgotten he had not been her first and only. Maria had nearly forgotten it too, come to that.

"Because you never tire of giving me pleasure," she explained.

"Oh,but it's _my_ pleasure," he smiled, idly running his finger up and down her arm. "Truly."

"You always put me first, even when you have to wait-"

"That's kind of you to say," and he smoothed the damp hair off her forehead, "but it's actually a purely selfish act on my part. The waiting makes it better."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "I don't understand."

"It's just a basic physical fact. The longer you wait for it, the more," he squinted, searching for the word, "intense. It's just – _more_. More everything."

"It is? _Really_?" Maria could tell he was trying not to laugh at her naïve question. "But I don't _like_ to wait."

"So I've noticed. You are _quite_ responsive, Maria love. Which is marvelous. Being with you – for all the times I dreamed of it, it's a thousand times better that I could ever have imagined. I'm only saying that you're always in a hurry! If you climbed mountains like you make love, you'd charge right up the Untersberg to the very peak, without stopping even once to admire the view, let alone for a picnic!"

He _was_ laughing now.

"Perhaps I'll try it your way the next time," she said haughtily. "Just for fun."

"Discipline," Georg threw his head back and laughed. "It takes _discipline_ , Maria, darling. Something you haven't got any of."

"I want to try it. Are you going to show me or not?"

"All right. When we get to Paris," he said, sounding nearly dismissive, as though he was sure she'd forget all about it by then. Which only strengthened Maria's stubborn resolve.

"How about now?

He stared at her, slack-jawed. Now he really _was_ shocked. "Now? But-"

"If you need a nap first," she informed him, "I'll understand."

"A nap? A _nap?_ " He shook a finger at her. "Have you already forgotten last night's lesson, Maria? Be careful what you ask for."

"Now," she insisted. "I want you to show me. What happens when you – ehrm – don't rush right up the mountain."

"You're sure about this?" he asked doubtfully.

But he was already reaching for her.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 **Thank you for reading my story. There is only one more chapter left, and it would sure help inspire me if you would leave me a review! I don't own TSOM, or anything about it, it's all for love.**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

 **A/N: Sorry this update took a while, so I'll begin with a bit of a recap.**

"What is it?" Maria asked.

"I'm just wondering what I did to deserve you, after all the mistakes I've made."

"Something good, I guess," she shrugged. "I know one thing you do right."

"What's that?"

"You're a _very_ good lover, Captain."

"How would you know?" Georg smiled, apparently having forgotten he had not been her first and only. Maria had nearly forgotten it too, come to that.

"Because you never tire of giving me pleasure-" Maria began.

"Oh, darling, but it's _my_ pleasure," he interrupted, running an idle finger up and down her arm. "Truly."

"You always put me first, even when you have to wait-"

"That's kind of you to say," and he smoothed the damp hair from her forehead, "but it's actually a purely selfish act on my part. The waiting makes it better."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "I don't understand."

"It's just a basic physical fact. The longer you wait for it, the more," he squinted, searching for the word, " _intense_. It's just – more. More everything."

" _Really_?" Maria could tell he was trying not to laugh at her naïve question. "Well _, I_ don't _like_ to wait."

"So I've noticed. You are _quite_ responsive, Maria love. Being with you – for all the times I dreamed of it, it was a thousand times better. At least! I'm only saying that if you climbed mountains like you make love, you'd charge right up the Untersberg to the very peak, without stopping even once to admire the view, let alone for a picnic!"

He _was_ laughing now.

"Perhaps I'll try it your way the next time," she said haughtily. "Just for fun, you know."

His voice was still threaded with amusement. "No you won't. Because it takes _discipline_ , Maria, darling. Something you haven't got any of."

"I want to try it. Are you going to show me or not?"

"All right. When we get to Paris," he said, sounding nearly dismissive, as though he was sure she'd forget all about it by then. Which only strengthened Maria's stubborn resolve.

"How about now?"

He stared at her, slack-jawed. "Now? But-"

"If you need a nap first," she informed him, "I'll understand."

"A nap? A _nap?_ " He shook a finger at her. "Have you already forgotten last night's lesson, Maria? Be careful what you wish for."

"Now," she insisted. "I want you to show me. What happens when you – ehrm – don't rush right up the mountain."

"Are you sure about this?" he asked doubtfully.

But he was already reaching for her.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It was natural, she told herself, to feel just the slightest bit uneasy. He had promised her something _more_ , something _intense._ Maria couldn't imagine surviving anything more intense than the sensations she'd already experienced. So yes, she _was_ a little apprehensive. And curious. And very, _very_ , intrigued.

It started on familiar enough ground: he ran his hands hungrily over her bare skin, wrapped her in his strong arms, and proceeded to kiss her nearly senseless, until she felt her apprehension melting away, replaced by the first delicious prickle of desire stirring deep in her belly.

"Slow down," she lectured her traitorous body, remembering the way he'd teased her. Rushing straight up the Untersburg, indeed!

His mouth left hers and traced a burning line across her cheek and behind her ear, sucking gently at the sensitive skin until she was squirming with delight. "Patience, Maria," he rebuked her, but he wasn't exactly making it easy, not with the way he feathered kisses down her neck and across her shoulder before taking her breast into his mouth. Her whole world shrank down to nothing but the hot tug of his mouth on her.

"Georg," she moaned, "I don't think I can wait-"

"Shh," he stopped what he was doing long enough to look up and fix her with a fierce blue stare, "you can, darling, and you will. You _will_ wait, and you _will_ love it. I _promise._ "

It wouldn't have mattered what he promised, not really, because while he was talking, his clever fingers had trailed down her belly and coaxed her legs open. Without any preliminary, he slid a long finger inside her, reaching for a spot where his touch sent a wave of pure carnal desire surging everywhere in her body.

"Georg," she gasped, "what happened to-?"

"To?" he murmured.

"To," she gritted her teeth. "Going slow."

"Oh!" he laughed, although his breath was coming in hard pants, and she could feel other parts of him growing hard as well. "This is just the overture, so to speak. Are you ready?"

"Ready? Of course I'm-"

"Turn over," he commanded.

"What?"

"Like this." He rose to his knees, and with a few deft tugs, he flipped her over on her belly, slid an arm underneath her, and pulled her upward until she was on all fours. "There. Are you comfortable?"

"No! I mean I'm not _un_ comfortable, but I thought we were going to-"

"And we are." He moved behind her and pushed her knees gently apart, creating a space for him to kneel. "This way."

She was shocked silent for a moment, and then managed to choke out, "But why? I can't even see you!"

"You'll understand why in a minute. And no, you won't see me, but you'll see something better. _Stars,_ " he leered. "Now. Hold still."

With one arm, he reached around to hold her hips against him, while he used the other hand to rub himself against her. He felt stiff and hot and there was something so wanton about the whole arrangement that Maria felt a little shiver of lust.

"This is how it's going to be," he told her. "I'm going to be inside you, but when you're getting close,"

"How will you know _that?"_ she interrupted him.

"I just know," he said ominously. "I'll explain it to you another time, all right? Anyway, when I stop, it might be a bit – ehrm – abrupt. No, no, don't be alarmed. I just don't want you to be surprised."

Without another word of explanation, Georg grabbed her gently by the hips, slowly pushed his way deep inside with a soft groan, and began to rock steadily against her. In this new position, the way he stretched her open, stroking at just the right angle, created thrilling sensations that quickly threatened to overwhelm her. He bent over her back, stretched out so that the rough, hot skin of his chest pressed tight against her back. When he reached beneath and caressed her breasts with his long fingers, she cried out with delight.

It didn't take long before she felt the familiar tightening low in her belly, and the heat unfurling to race through her veins. Her passion-muddled mind dimly recalled Georg's warning about rushing to the summit, and that was _exactly_ how she felt, that she was racing at breakneck speed toward her destination. Except she had neither the ability nor the intention to stop, her whole body was trembling now, it was too delicious, her whole and anyway it would be only another moment or two and –

"Ouch!"

He had gently pinched her breast – it hadn't hurt, really, just surprised her and broke her concentration – and in the next moment, he pulled out of her and collapsed next to her on the bed, gasping for air.

"Georg, why-"

"You'll see," he muttered, running his hands through his hair. After a minute, when he had recovered a measure of his composure, he turned toward her, eyes glittering.

"Ready to find out?"

He returned to his position behind her. Having him take her from behind was oddly impersonal, but that made it feel deliciously wicked, too, as though this encounter was solely focused on her body and its sensations. But that idea, and any other rational thought, quickly flew out of her mind the moment he thrust himself back inside her, this time with greater vigor. With one hand, Georg returned to squeezing her breasts, while the other gently skated across the place where her legs met.

Every square inch of her skin, inside and out, and stimulated by their previous contact, now positively burned with sensation. It was just as he had promised: everything was bigger, brighter, hotter, harder, faster: _more._

She was racing across a sunlit meadow, crying out with joy, straining to reach the glittering summit that lingered just ahead, tantalizingly out of reach-

"Georg! No!"

This time, it had been a firm tweak of her nipple. He pulled away from her and lay sprawled across the bed, gasping for breath. "You see?" he choked.

"Y-yes," Maria moaned. When he had started up again, it had been- "Yes, but now can you just – I want-"

A moment later, he was on his knees behind her again. In her ear, a menacing chuckle. "Why such a rush? It just gets better, you know. I think you deserve to see what happens if we go on this way for a while longer."

"All right. One more time," she whimpered, although he hadn't exactly asked her opinion.

" _Three_ more times," he demanded, "at least,'' and he thrust himself into her, hard. One hand thumbed a nipple, while the other flicked mercilessly at the soft place between her legs.

"Three? I can't-" but the rest of her words were swallowed up by her cries, and it didn't matter, really, whether he tested her limits one time or two or three or a hundred, because she couldn't count anyway.

Over and over, Georg took her right up to the edge, until every muscle, bone and nerve in her body screamed desperately for relief, but then he refused to release her. No matter what she did – pushing against those fluttering fingers, tightening against his pulsing length within her - he was relentless, moving her higher and higher, but never lingering long enough to satisfy. Every time he left her, he dragged himself against her until she ached with desire.

And when there was nothing left of her besides sensation, when Maria was nothing but a throbbing bundle of white-hot need, he summoned her back at last.

"Maria. Now. With me," he groaned, and in a swift flurry of arms and legs, he had her on her back, so she could see his handsome face, taut with desire, as he surged into her. She braced her feet against the bed and rose to meet him, clutching hard at the damp, working muscles of his back before he pulled away from her, again and again, leaving a slow, torturous trail of fire in his wake.

There was nothing except the place where they were joined, the sharp smells and frantic slap of flesh on flesh, and then his hands tangled in her hair and tugged her face close to his. His harsh cries against her mouth grew into one long scream, a scream like thunder cracking open the sky.

And then they were gone, flying into the raging tempest together, soaring past the moon, through the stars and straight into the sun, shattering into a million burning pieces, until all that remained were the cinders, floating lazily back to earth.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

They fought to stay awake as long as they could, hovering just at the edge of sleep, conscious, without speaking of it, that it was their last night together until Paris. Around dawn, when the birds' chorus joined the sound of the little creek rushing by outside the window, she fell into a fitful sleep. When she awoke, the space next to her was cold and empty.

"Georg!"

"I'm here."

He was standing before the mirror, dressed in trousers and an unbuttoned shirt. His eyes met hers in the mirror only briefly before he returned to scraping the razor across his face. "I nearly sliced my throat open trying to shave in the bathroom. The light in there is terrible. I'd forgotten," he added casually.

"What time is it?"

"Past eight."

"Eight?" Maria closed her eyes against the bright glare of morning light and the disappointing reappearance of her Captain, immersed in practical preparations for the day. Not yet, she thought, please, not yet, I'm not ready. "I didn't mean to sleep so long. I was hoping we'd have time to-" her eyes sought his in the mirror. "I mean, don't you want to come over here and-"

Georg had hoped to avoid the question entirely, but when he caught sight of her reflection, he knew he was in for a struggle. He could hardly believe this was the same girl who had so confused and bewitched him with her hot-and-cold worries about their honeymoon. Now Maria was the charming picture of trouble, cheeks rosy, golden hair mussed, her wild blue eyes watching him with undisguised hunger. Had there really been a moment when he wasn't certain she belonged to him?

"Maria," he said evenly. "If we start up again, we won't make it back to Vienna until dinner time. Max will be waiting for us at ten, and we've got to get there before he goes upstairs and finds out that Hede-"

He could hardly bear the look of disappointment, and even hurt, that crossed her face. He considered returning to her side for just a moment – a kiss on the forehead, perhaps, or a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder – but an immediate signal from his traitorous body told him that there would be no turning back after that.

"If you get dressed quickly, we'll have time for a cup of tea," was all he said.

Maria watched in disbelief as he buttoned himself into his shirt, tie and jacket, erasing any trace of the tender, ferocious Captain who had spent the last three days teaching her more about lovemaking than she had ever imagined possible. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, there was a new bond between them now, an invisible golden thread of passion and desire, and she couldn't resist giving it a little tug.

"Very well," she said cheerfully, swinging her legs out of bed before energetically pirouetting across the room. She felt his eyes on her as she bent over her bag and shamelessly wriggled her bare bottom at him. "What do you think," she asked, waving another bit of her purloined trousseau at him, "the red lace or the-"

"It's no use," he said hoarsely. She could see the muscles of his throat work before he muttered, as though to himself, "discipline, you know." Then he stalked from the room.

Ten minutes later, Maria appeared in the big room, fully dressed for the first time since they'd arrived at the little cottage three days ago. In his mind's eye, he couldn't help imagining what lay beneath her crisp blue skirt and white blouse – not imagining, for he knew it now, the curve of her waist, the round breasts and freckled shoulders and rough knees and the soft white skin of her thighs. Not to mention all that lingerie-

"I'll put the bags in the boot," was all he said, and she bit her lip, as though she wanted to say something, but couldn't manage it.

"I love you," he said quietly.

"I know," she whispered. "I just don't know how to go on. Not after what's happened."

For a moment, his heart nearly fell out of his chest. "You regret it?"

"No! No! That's not it at all! It's just that – when you asked me to stay with you here, I was so frightened. And confused. I wanted you, but I was afraid, you know, of what it would be like, and what you would say when you found out. About me."

"I told you. That doesn't matter," he said fiercely, his fists clenched against the nearly overwhelming desire to take her in his arms. "I don't care about it, not in the least. It doesn't matter at all," he repeated.

"I know," she sputtered, "That's just the thing. I thought I loved you before, you know, but – I know all about it now. Why two people like us, two people who don't seem to belong together at all, are meant for each other. Everything is different now. I'm different. _We_ are different. You knew it all along, didn't you?"

"I-" he began, but she cut him off.

"You are part of me now, and _I_ am a part of _you_. How do you expect us to pretend that none of it happened?"

"We have no choice, love." Georg crossed his arms across his chest. "Not with a houseful of servants and family and children. It's only two weeks until Paris, after all."

Before Maria could say any more, he returned to the bedroom, skirting a wide berth around her. When he emerged with their bags, he motioned with his chin, signaling her to lead the way outside.

As she reached for the doorknob, she couldn't resist giving that golden thread one last tug, just for good measure. "Georg-"

Behind her, there was a thump as their bags hit the floor.

"To hell with it," he growled, and then he had her up against the door, so that her toes barely touched the floor. Her arms went around his neck and she lifted her face to his for a kiss that turned out to be more like an invasion. Even as his tongue filled her mouth, he made a rough sound and dragged her skirt up around her waist. Surely he didn't intend to – but he'd already unbuttoned his trousers and was pushing himself, smooth and hot and huge, into her hand. He didn't even stop to undress her; he simply shoved her knickers out of the way and pushed himself inside, filling her with blissful sensation.

There was no end to his need to her, Georg thought hopelessly. She was already slick with desire, and within moments, she was convulsing around him until he couldn't tell where she began and he ended. It didn't take long at all before the fire gathered at the base of his spine streaked upward and exploded. Over the roaring in his ears, he barely heard her cry out again, but he felt her nails sink into the back of his neck, and with one last shuddering heave against the door, he poured himself into her.

They collapsed to the floor in a damp tangle of limbs before he choked out a single word.

"Studio."

"W-what?"

It was several minutes before he could explain himself.

"I used to have a little studio. Up on the third floor of the villa."

"Studio?"

"I briefly took up painting when it first happened, you know, but it didn't really-" he paused. "It probably needs a good dusting, but it's got a lock, and it's way over on the other side, over the ballroom. No one will be able to hear us."

"Oh, Georg," she glowed, "it sounds _perfect_." She gave him a bewitching smile. "I'll try to be quiet."

"There's no chance of that, Fraulein. I simply won't allow it."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

They made the careful drive back up to the main road in silence, but once they were pointed toward Vienna, he quickly set a breakneck pace.

"Georg!" she shouted over the rushing wind that nearly snatched the words from her lips. "You're going to get us both killed, and then it won't matter what Max thinks!"

It wasn't Max he was thinking about, though. He wasn't thinking of the Germans or the children, either. It was the pleasurable sting on his neck where he was sure she'd drawn blood. It was exhilaration, it was joy, and it was anticipation. They'd be back in Salzburg by dinner time. An early bedtime for the children, perhaps. After all, the wedding was no excuse to ignore their routines, and then-

They traveled the rest of the way back to Vienna with only the rushing wind for company, but once they were in the city, traffic slowed to a crawl. Maria shifted in her seat.

"Georg? I was thinking, and I was wondering-"

"Hm?" He seemed distracted, by the traffic, no doubt.

"Is it like that for everyone?"

He was silent, and when she peeked at his stern profile, she thought perhaps he hadn't heard her. But then a smug smile barely curved his lips as he answered.

"No." He cleared his throat. "No, it's not." It was only a few words, but his voice, soft and low, was like a caress.

A few minutes later, he pulled over to the curb in front of Hede's building. Overcome by self-consciousness, and the thoughts of all that had happened since they'd left Vienna three days earlier, Maria looked down at her lap, nervously smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt, but when she remembered how those wrinkles had gotten there, her cheeks began to burn. When she looked up, Georg was watching her, smirking, his blue eyes dancing with wickedness.

It was a minute or two before they even noticed Max Detweiler leaning casually against a lamppost outside Hede's building, his bag at his feet.

Georg leaned out the car window.

"Max! Over here! We're ready to leave as soon as you're on board."

Max sauntered over to them and raised an eyebrow, maintaining an elegant silence for at least ten seconds before he said, "Hede sends her regards. She's feeling better, but it's safest if she keeps her distance for another few days. She'll be fine in time for the wedding, of course."

They ought to have strategized a response, ahead of time, Georg realized. He shot a cautious look at Maria, relaxing when he saw that she'd assumed an expression of perfect innocence. She was leaving it to him.

"I appreciate the update, Max. Let's get on the road, shall we?"

"Georg," Max narrowed his eyes. "As I recall, you were the person who asked for my help as a chaperon. Am I correct?"

"Yes, Max, but- look, let's just get going, shall we?"

"The moment I turn my back on the two of you, you – you – I don't even know what you did when your plans with Hede fell through. You _should_ have gone straight back to Salzburg, you know. Did you go to a hotel? I hope you didn't-"

"We _managed,_ " Georg said, "that's all you need to know. Now get in the car. Unless you're walking back to Salzburg." As though to underscore his intention, he started the engine and put the car into gear.

"All right! All right!" Max scurried about, putting his bag in the boot and sliding into the rear seat. "Maria, darling, you know I'm only concerned on your behalf, don't you?"

"And I appreciate it," Maria murmured, "but we were able to make arrangements."

" _Arrangements,_ " Max smoothed his mustache. "What kind of a response is that?"

"A none of your business response," Georg scowled.

"Georg! Max!" Maria interrupted sternly, as though she were mediating an argument between Kurt and Friedrich. "Do stop bickering! Georg, darling, Max is only looking out for our best interests, and Max, I can assure you that Georg-"

She made an odd choking sound.

Georg looked over at her, alarmed, but she just gave him an impish grin, and with a wicked glint in her eye, added,

"It's just as I've heard you say, Max. Georg _always_ rises to the occasion."

Georg bit back a laugh, shot his bride an approving smile, and stepped on the gas. He'd have them back in Salzburg by dinner time for sure.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **THE END**

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **And that's a wrap! Thank you so much for reading my story, and for sharing your enjoyment of it with your kind reviews – they were really inspiring! I always wanted to write an all-naughty story, and while this isn't the naughtiest story I've ever seen on this site, it was certainly new ground for me. I liked doing it, although I feel like I've eaten a pound of fudge, or an entire cake, or something. A bit much. I have already been writing bits of my next story, which will not be "mature," so stay tuned! Don't own, story or characters or anything, it's all for love.  
**


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